Just Before Dawn
by AbstractError
Summary: Chapter 7 - Test cases are essential to research...And Szayel is out fishing for one. Unfortunately, the world simply does not fall into the correct categories, heh. Does not mean that Szayel ever gives up.
1. Dissolution

Stark and Halibel, before 'Sloth' and 'Understanding'. M-rated for sexual content (yeeees, guy on girl sexual content, would you believe it.) Just as a snippet of context, if you've stumbled upon this without having stumbled on Understanding and Sloth before, the top three Espada rankings for this story are Barragan first, Stark second, Halibel third. The references to Stark as the strongest of the lot refer to the time before Aizen, when he, indeed, was the strongest. However, because of the fact that Lilinette was not mature enough for the Hougyaku transformation to give her a full human body, Stark assited in her transformation with a radical amount of his own reiatsu, which made him drop beneath Barragan.

The rest should be self-explanatory.

* * *

She laid back on the bed, with a lazy, graceful motion, which pushed her breasts forward and slightly apart. The position made them seem even fuller; he smiled, letting her know he understood she'd intended just that.

She arched an eyebrow.

'Off with it,' she commanded, pointing at the tunic of the man who stood at the foot of her bed, then waving her fingers to the side.

It was his turn to arch an eyebrow.

'Aizen is rubbing off on you in entirely unexpected ways,' he ironically said.

Still, smiling and conceding to her new game, he unbuttoned his tunic and carelessly tossed it aside – the gesture made her frown slightly, just as he knew it would; if there was anything she hated, it was disorder. His grin grew mischievous.

Her frown faded.

'You like what you see?' Stark asked, and Halibel nodded, a familiar fever growing in the emerald depths of her eyes. 'You should,' he added. 'I haven't eaten anyone in over two months – that should go a long way towards preserving my boyish figure. Though I cannot guarantee what effects it had on my stamina.'

Her eyes narrowed disapprovingly, but he knew that, underneath her visor, she'd been pursing her lips and smiling with amusement. Genuine, rare amusement, the kind that she seemed to feel on few occasions, and display in fewer still.

'You could at least try to initiate some form of verbal foreplay,' Halibel said, barely withholding a chuckle at the fact that she had tried – and miserably failed – to sound commanding.

It was only then that his eyes warmed, while his heart sank.

It was going to be one of _those_ nights.

Over the past century, their..._relationship_? Stark thought, almost frowning at the odd inaccuracy of the word, had gone through many phases, each with its particular charm and flavour; they had been allies, friends, then, lovers. Now, during the increasingly rare encounters that signalled its predictable dissolution, they chose to return and relive, re-enact them, one by one. And, surprisingly, none of them lost their charm, or ever failed to incite heart-rending regret at things that were lost and would never be recovered.

This was going to be an honest night.

Good – he liked them best.

She'd been the first creature in this barren world that he had trusted, outside of Lilinette...outside of himself. She was the first one whose logic and strength he had respected, the first one who had made him smile. The first one who had sincerely smiled for him, and helped him reclaim the part of his former humanity that he could not allow Lilinette to return. Not then, not now...not yet.

But that was not why he'd loved her. He'd loved her because she understood the things he could not say, and accepted them. Because she had always known that she was a replacement, a projection, but the knowledge had not made her grudge him or give him any less of herself. Perhaps, aside her strength, it was her generosity and honesty that he had loved.

That he still loved, on _these_ nights alone.

It was, Stark thought, looking at her, as if Halibel, _his _Halibel had gone, leaving another to inhabit her body during the long, excruciatingly sunny days of this alien city and during the meetings with the man who called them _his Espada_. This other had inherited Halibel's body, then proceeded to transform her strength of spirit into stony inflexibility, taken away her independence, surgically removed her sense of humour and done away with her playful and spontaneous sexuality, replacing it with repressed lust towards a single, godly and unattainable target.

Or perhaps, not unattainable, he thought, sudden bitterness causing his lower jaw to tense. No one, not even someone with Halibel's legendary patience, waited forever; Aizen must have given her some reason to keep hoping. Perhaps Halibel's short returns to herself, and _par consequence_, to Stark, corresponded to the periods when Aizen's visits to her bed grew too far apart. Did she miss the sex in itself? He wondered, taking in the shape of her body, and casually noticing that her breath had grown shallow.

It could not have been that; she could not have lacked for offers. What, then, did she miss?

Did she miss herself as much as he missed her?

'What should I say?' he asked, smiling, and loosening the sash that held his hakama. 'That you're beautiful? You already know that, and I hate being repetitive.'

She simply tilted her head to the side.

'Should I ask why you called me, tonight?' he asked, smiling wryly.

'I would just ask why you came,' Halibel answered simply.

'Dead-end conversation,' Stark conceded, and she chuckled in response.

'Off with that, too,' she said, pointing at the sash.

He stopped unfastening his sash – just as a point – but bent over to remove his sandals and socks, then kneeled on the bed by her side, and slipped his arm under her back, pulling her up. Their eyes met, and Halibel's breath caught a little. So did his.

He reached up, tracing her cheekbone with his index; she inched closer, so close that her breasts touched his chest at each breath, and he could feel the warmth radiating off her golden skin. He slipped his fingers under her hair, gently brushing against the sharp edge of her mask – Halibel shivered.

Most would have thought the white patch of bone was dead, a mere shell for the living and breathing features it still concealed. It was not – even the left over shards of the Hollow's mask were as sensitive as the skin, and equally warm.

He kissed her forehead, and questioningly glanced down, as his fingers slipped lower and lower over the mask, and under the visor.

'Does he take it off?' Stark asked, in a low, gentle whisper. The question had not been reproachful, and there had been no trace of jealousy in his voice. It had been there once, in a long forgotten past – violent jealousy at the thought that another man had dared lay his hands on what Stark held as closely, personally _his_ as his hunting domain.

It was all gone, now, though. Whatever he'd been robbed of, she'd been robbed of far more, and Stark understood that, even though he feared she did not. That was why his question had been deprived of reproach, and solely ridden with regret.

'Does he take it off, Halibel?' he whispered. 'Does he dare look at you? At your true, terrible beauty?'

She glanced up, through reproachfully narrowed eyes.

'He doesn't,' Stark answered himself, with a trace of a smile. 'He likes to imagine that he has done away with everything that you were before him, that he's created you anew, that he's made you perfect. And you don't want to contradict him. That's why you're wearing this,' he kindly ended, caressing her over the soft silk of her visor.

The woman lay back on the bed, her outstretched arm snaking around his throat and pulling him closer, and, as he leaned in, Halibel softly ran her fingers over the fangs that hung about his neck, letting them slide over his chest and to the edges of the dark hole in his sternum.

'He filled it,' she said, and both of them knew what she was speaking of.

'I hope so, my beauty,' Stark answered. 'I hope so.'

He caressed her breasts with the back of his fingers, then brought himself downwards to trail kisses down her stomach. The arm he still had around her waist arched her back, and she pressed her shoulders into the soft mattress, yielding eagerly to the kisses and to the fingers that pulled the sash off her hips and searchingly roamed over the dimples in the small of her back.

Her skin was burning; she lifted her hips to help him remove the piece of silk that pointlessly separated them. The movement caused her breasts to free themselves of her top – Stark looked up, taking in the view with hunger and anticipation, as if he'd seen it for the first time. He touched her sex as if he'd touched for the first time, too, almost shyly, almost too lightly, relishing the feeling of hot and wet under his fingertips. Relishing the way in which her breath hitched at each circular motion, and the fact that her hips rose to welcome his fingers' first entry.

He kissed her breasts, left, pink nipple hardening between his lips, just before the right one did too – he inwardly smiled, remembering that before the first time, before the very first time, he'd imagined they would be brown.

Stark hissed when her short fingernails scraped playfully over his lower stomach.

'I am ticklish,' he reminded her.

'I know,' she answered in a very serious voice, and the motion repeated, sending hot jolts through his hardened sex. 'The mighty one, the strongest of the strong, the coldest of the cold, greatest among us...'

'Not anymore,' he said, but chuckled uncontrollably nonetheless. 'Not anymore,' he repeated, grabbing her wrist and pinning it aside her head. His gaze grew hard and cutting, but only for a second – her other hand slipped under his sash and encircled his length.

'It was your choice,' she answered, even as she arched further, offering her breasts to his lips. 'It is still your choice. You could...'

Her head turned, and she caressed herself on his wrist, like a kitten – forehead, cheeks and hot breath over the tattoo that marked his ranking. Her eyelids fluttered as his fingers withdrew to circle and explore delicate folds.

'No,' he said, kindly, and without anger. 'No,' he repeated when her glance grew pleading. She drew breath as if preparing to say something else, but the circular, soft caresses to her clitoris resumed and the phrase broke – in turn, her hand continued to move over his sex. 'The ticklish point stands, though.' Stark cautioned, managing to smile. Her eyes smiled in turn.

He moaned, and cursed softly under his breath; though they left his sex and once more danced over his lower stomach, causing him to jolt and reproachfully glance down, her fingers started a determined struggle against his sash, and he straightened for long enough to remove it and free himself of his hakama. Halibel smiled at his sudden, impatient rush, and he offered an apologetic shrug as he kneeled before her.

Halibel tried to sit up in her turn, but he gently pressed her back down, splaying his pale fingers over her dark, golden stomach, and slowly shaking his head. His hand slipped over her beautiful, rounded belly, then roamed over the curve of her hip; had this woman lived in ancient times, he thought, watching the hungry, impatient movements of her hips, they would have worshipped her as a goddess...of Earth, or fertility, or lust...Only a goddess could have posessed this kind of raw, untamed and shameless beauty; only a goddess could possibly have posessed this kind of strength. He followed her well defined muscles downwards, lingering over her protruding hip bone. Her thighs moved slightly apart, inviting his hand; Stark bit his lower lip, but resisted the temptation.

Instead, his glance never leaving hers, he caressed the outside of her thighs down to the knee, lingering to draw arcane patterns on the fine patch of skin. She whimpered, drawing closer, when he softly parted her legs arranging them on either side of his, and moaned deeply when his fingers returned inside her.

'Let me touch you,' she breathed, her stomach muscles tensing deliciously under his spread fingers, just as her sex clenched over his other hand. 'Let me...'

She reached out her hand, small fingers, with short, childishly rounded nails pleading for his.

'...close to you,' she finished – his had caught hers and he jolted her up to her knees. She straddled him, her left arm entangled his shoulders, and her breasts pressed against his chest at each heavy, cut off breath.

Her hand caressed his cheek and he closed his eyes, posing a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist when it passed over his lips.

'Your body is a work of art,' she said, in a low voice. 'It always was. But your face...'

He did not have sufficient strength to draw away.

'Your cheekbones, the proportions of your features, your eyes – handsome, strong, who you are, what you are, everything that was behind the mask is now out in the open, and they fear you,' she hissed, shivering with pleasure at uttering the words, 'they fear you now that they see your face more than they ever did before. The cowardly little Adjuchas. Half of the Espada...'

Her finger nails dug into his skin.

'They fear you, even though you are only half awake, even though you choose to only be half awake...'

He held her tighter and withdrew his hand. Instead, he rubbed the tip of his sex against hers, making it slick with hot warmth. She moaned, and leaned her forehead on his shoulder. Her top tore on the remnants of his mask, but she did not care – she pressed her hips downwards, wincing in disappointment and pleasure when the gland simply rubbed against her, sending waves of uncontrollable, maddening warmth upwards on her spine.

'Do you fear me?' Stark whispered, eyes shooting blue lightning.

She looked up and frowned, eyes riddled with lust and incomprehension.

'I always have,' Halibel whispered, with a slight shake of her head. 'And it's only made me want you even more. I want you,' she whispered in his ear, her small fingers slipping though the wavy, dark tresses of his hair. 'I want you because I fear you; the more I fear you, Stark, the more I want to touch you – feel your strength, drink of it, feast on it...all of it, not half of it...'

Stark cringed, letting out a ragged breath.

'Is that what he wants?' he asked, not pushing her away, but holding her tighter as her hips rolled, and all things, save for the frustrating proximity of her sex began to fade. 'Is that why he told you to...Don't answer,' he begged.

_You don't need to. I understand._

'Aizen...-sama sees,' she whispered, 'through my heart, though your heart, through the heart of all things, he returns the heart of all things, their meaning, their strength. He...'

'Halibel, please,' he whimpered.

'He hasn't given up on you, Stark,' she struggled to say, her words intertwined with strangled, desperate moans, 'he wants you by his side – though you have shown so little respect for his gifts, though you care so little for _our_ goals...He wants you by his side, and you deserve to be the first among his creations, as you always were the first among us...'

'He did not ask this of me,' she whispered, folding her fingers under his chin and forcing his gaze across hers.

_He didn't need to._

'I want you to take the place you deserve,' Halibel pleaded, and the sincerity in her voice made his anger waver. He breathed out heavily, feeling as if the air had been tearing at his throat with a thousand sharp claws. 'I want you,' she whimpered, moving over his sex, 'I want you to stand with Aizen-sama...Aizen-sama,' Halibel breathed, her entire wheight resting on his shoulders, her sweet breath caressing his cheek as she whispered the other's name. 'Please, Stark...'

With slow, careful gestures, he disentangled her frame from his, and laid her on the bed – she yielded easily, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, her half lidded eyes burning with the expectation of pleasure. Stark leaned in over her, and stopped to take in her heart-rending beauty before he kissed her forehead.

'I loved you,' he said, with the voice of a man who neither expected to be heard, nor believed.

He passed his hand over her features, without touching her, but close enough for her eyelashes to touch his palm – she instinctively closed her eyes, and he kissed her eyelids, one after the other, then, with equally gentle gestures, he began to lower the zipper of her visor.

Halibel whimpered, but did not move to stop him, yet again yielding when his fingers came between skin and silk and removed the garment from her shoulders.

The mask still covered the better part of her face, more so on the right than on the left – the fierce, sharp outline of a predator's mandible ascended her right cheek, disappearing under her hair. Two sharp incisors protruded from the row of shorter, razor sharp teeth that lined the contour of her bony upper jaw; sharp and gleaming, the incisors passed over her lower jaw and curved slightly under her chin, contrasting the darkness of the hollow hole that pierced the centre of her neck.

_Because they hanged you, my queen. The humans, the unfortunate, ignorant humans, could not understand your powers, so they hanged you._

'You possess such beauty,' he said, tracing the contours of her mask. 'Such powerful, terrifying beauty...He is right to avert his eyes,' Stark said, softly. 'Your beauty, your completeness, is something a Shinigami could never comprehend.'

He drew a deep breath and held it, looking at her eyes, at the mist of glowing sweat that covered her skin, at her breasts, which rippled with emotion, at her hips, that escaped her conscious control and continued to writhe in small, enticing circles...

Stark kissed her forehead once more.

_Just once more._

'It's the last time, my beauty,' he said, as if the gentleness of his voice could mask the painful finality of his decision. 'The very last time.'

He adjusted her knees and she bit her lip suppressing a cry as he moved inside her, deeply, completely, in a single, slow movement; he remained motionless for a second, feeling her muscles greedily tauten around his sex, drawing him in, just as her hand clenched at the white sheets. Stark covered her small, dark fingers with his own, and brought them to his lips...and then, for a second, she looked disconcerted and frightened, the expression in her eyes tearing at his heart.

'It is alright, Halibel,' Stark said, softly. 'You can close your eyes and imagine it's him.'

'I...' she began to respond.

'You love him, I know,' he whispered, separating the golden strands of her hair and caressing her forehead and cheeks. 'I know.'

She closed her eyes, gripping his fingers, and Stark began to move; breath hissed between her fangs, as did cut off denials and the pleas that undid them...

_...be with me, be with us, be with him... _

Him.

_...ask him for your strength back and he will lift you to his side, closer to his side...he will love you and you will love him...Stark..._

The rhythm of their bodies betrayed a century of mutual knowledge – lips and fingers moved on already known trails, hips moving together softly, seamlessly as pleasure mounted and drowned out all thoughts and all fears, all images of an uncertain future. Her nipples were even sweeter now, that the sensitive skin was reddened by his teeth and his lips; sweat stained the sheets, and her body arched, meeting each thrust. Her thighs clenched him tightly, capturing him as if she had wanted him closer still – a deep growl grew at the centre of Stark's chest and escaped his lips as he pulled her up and on top of him. He trailed kisses on the side of her neck, which had arched in abandon, and when the kisses were no longer enough he bit, almost too powerfully – Halibel's fingernails scraped at his shoulders, drawing blood and darkness out of the wounds.

'Like that,' he growled again – her incisors stabbed sharply into his skin just as the fangs of his mask drew blood from the skin under her collarbone. Halibel hissed, a feral, hungry smile drawing her fangs outwards, and causing her lower jaw to split along the middle, the two sides drifting apart to reveal another, concealed row of sharp teeth just before snapping shut again. 'Just like that,' he laughed, a chorus of dark voices laughing with him; she joined them, and as she leaned back, resting all of her wheight on his hands, the two parts of her mandible split again, remaining wide apart.

She gasped for air, her neck arched, her jaws and her body open and hungry, but she continued to move, upwards and downwards, leaning back on her sweaty, stretched arms and relying on his fingers to keep her steady.

'Come here,' he commanded, with sudden fury. He slipped his forearm around her waist, pulling her close; the silky, cold tentacles of his reiatsu covered her skin, caressing licking and biting each inch, tasting each bead of clear sweat and leaving darkened welts which resembled whiplashes in their wake.

'Yes,' she almost screamed. Her head whipped forward, golden strands clinging to her forehead. 'Yes,' she hissed, 'that's what I want. That's how I want you. Your fury, your power...the taste of your power...Yes...'

A pink, forked tongue darted out between her fangs, trailing along their sharp edges; her movements became swift and shallow, making his sex strike the same spot again, and again, and again – Halibel cried as she climaxed, a long, violent scream that sent ripples through the reiatsu fabric of the world, an explosion of energy so intense that her body gathered a visible, burning glow.

Stark clenched his teeth and closed his eyes; the sound of her achieved pleasure brought him over the edge as well. The last, uncontrolled lash of his reiatsu drew blood – darkness swept through the corridors and over the sands, and though his body burned with pleasure, his mind writhed in pain, for he knew, he knew beyond doubt, that somewhere else in Las Noches, Lilinette had brought her knees to her chest and struggled not to cry.

The woman allowed her sweat covered body to slip aside, lingering pleasure causing her to drift in sweet abandon. Her fingers still clung to his, as her breath regained its soft, regular rhythm and Stark sighed, wishing his own senses had not returned to him quite as fast. He leaned in to kiss her shoulder, then gently tried to disentangle his fingers from her hand.

She did not let go.

'A century,' she whispered, the voice forming in her chest rather than her throat. She curled, trapping his hand beneath her chin.

'I hope he can give you what he promised he would,' Stark answered softly. 'Whatever it is that you are seeking, my beauty.'

'If you just...' she began, looking up with renewed, feverish hope; he shook his head, and she looked away, falling silent. 'He'd give you back your reiatsu. He'd make you his _Primera_ – and...'

'At what cost?' he asked, kindly. 'It does no matter that he took away your old mask, Halibel.' Stark added, as kindly as he could, reaching out and finding the remains of her top to glance at her visor. 'He gave you a new one.'

'You're stubborn,' she growled, looking up with fury in her eyes. Her mandible snapped impatiently, and he shrugged.

'You're beautiful,' Stark responded, kissing her forehead, but strongly, resolutely pulling his hand away.

He got dressed quietly, with unhurried gestures, waiting..._hoping? _for her to stop him, knowing that he did not want to be stopped.

'If it is the last time,' Halibel whispered, at long length, 'stay with me. Stay with me, in my bed until morning...'

He looked up.

'You never did before,' she said, with bitter spite.

'You know I...' Stark said, his voice trailing off.

'Cannot?' she bit.

'Don't want to,' he dryly corrected. 'Lilinette doesn't sleep alone.'

The door opened, and he looked into the darkness of the corridor as if he'd faced it for the first time.

'It hasn't been a century,' Halibel said, coolly. 'You have not ever really been here with me.'

Stark yawned.

He took a step away, then, another.

Behind him, the door slid shut.


	2. Crescent Moon Rising

Good day all, and thank you for your kind words on the previous chapter.

I hope this will not prove too confusing for those who do not read Understanding - to which this is a prequel.

Chapter contains Szayel Aporro (thus strong hints at his meandering sexuality) and Nnoitra and Lilinette (thus, language that you'd never use in your granny's presence).

* * *

In the case of Szayel Aporro Granz, the saying that geniuses are seldom understood during their lifetime expanded into un-life as well.

Of all of Sousuke Aizen's creations, he was, perhaps, the most misunderstood and misinterpreted – yet, unlike in his short human existence, he had come to regard the fact as a tactical advantage, rather than an inherent characteristic of an Universe filled with hatefully inferior creatures that could do no more than ally with each other to the ruin of their betters.

There was, for instance, the entrenched common belief that Szayel Aporro was gay.

The assumption was thoroughly incorrect. Or at least, inexact.

According to its definition, homosexuality meant that one felt sexual or romantic attraction exclusively towards the members of one's own gender. In Szayel Aporro's case, nothing could have possibly been further from the truth; he found both genders equally attractive and equally able to provide temporary release from his own painful hypersexuality, and, in fact, the only true constant in Szayel Aporro's sexual conduct was the fact that he found _himself_ utterly perfect, absolutely desirable and thoroughly irresistible. The rest of those who enjoyed his company and selfless desire of pleasing while being pleased – between the sheets, or against a wall, wherever the opportunity arose or was skilfully created - were placed in the same drawer of Szayel's mind as any number of the other ingenious vibrating toys of his own construction, and their gender mattered quite little.

As for romantic attraction, the only instance in which Szayel had been unfortunate enough to experience the feeling, it had been directed at a woman. A delightful irony, that Aizen-sama, who knew all things, had been delicate enough to keep within a restricted circle.

Of course, Szayel Aporro thought, slightly cranking his perfect nose, and clenching his hands behind his back, it would have been far more delicate of Aizen-sama to simply keep it to himself. But, since experience had taught Szayel Aporro that he could only ever count on himself being perfect, Aizen's choice of sharing that particular bit of information with a few unworthy ears had not truly come as a complete surprise.

It was good enough that Aizen had seen fit to keep the other pieces of information that he held about Szayel Aporro to himself.

Another completely untrue assumption about Szayel Aporro Granz was that he had lost his place amid the first Espada, either though his own, natural shortcomings, or simply because he had done something to earn Aizen's disfavour.

Nothing could have been further from the truth, and this knowledge, Aizen had chosen to keep between himself and his former ninth Espada. Thus, with the notable exception of Kaname Tousen, who had been let into the know by Szayel himself, nobody knew that Szayel Aporro Granz had given up the ninth Espada ranking of his own volition.

While Szayel Aporro was, indeed, a monument to arrogance, managing to embody all of its shapes and flavours, he had never allowed the knowledge that he was inherently superior to most blind him to the few areas where he was not. He had come into his Hueco Mundo existence blessed with an early version of his now fully human and delightful shape, and with a somewhat disjointed, but nonetheless solid set of memories of his human life. As far as he knew, he was the only one of Las Noches' denizens to enjoy the advantage of early and complete self awareness without having to fight for it; this made him, Aaroniero aside, the one who had the greatest potential for evolution. Furthermore, while his capacity of absorbing reiatsu was clearly inferior for lack of exercise, the same was not true for his capacity of absorbing knowledge and applying it.

These simple truths had not, however, rendered him blind or deaf to another equally solid, and terribly immediate set of truths – he was a Vasto Lorde that had barely enough reiatsu to measure against a powerful Adjucha, but sufficient reiatsu to be considered the icing on the desert of another Vasto Lorde's evening meal. In the time before wisdom had finally pointed to the fact that attempting to hide from Aizen's concentration of forces served no goal, he'd managed to keep himself very well hidden from all those that might have looked at him and seen a delicious, strawberry flavoured snack; once he had actually had to leave his lair and present himself before the Creator – not because of any inherent faith in the rising new order, but simply because avoiding the Adjucha search parties had become close to impossible – Szayel Aporro had grasped the true dimensions of the danger that he was facing in a closely clustered conglomerate of entities far larger and older than himself.

It had not taken Szayel Aporro long to understand that his position at the tail of the hierarchy was desperately dangerous – those who coveted a seat at the table were numerous, and quite capable of associating. Furthermore, while the top ranks were very secure in their position, for they each had qualities that rendered them uniquely useful, the same could not be claimed about the bottom of the ranks. The attention he attracted as an Espada was, therefore, less than beneficial, or at least, not until Szayel Aporro himself could devise defence mechanisms powerful enough to deter contenders, and find a manner of being uniquely useful to the Shinigami that seemed to have settled on the top of the world.

He had, therefore, gone to Aizen and asked to be demoted.

Even after gathering the entire amount of modesty he was capable of, Szayel Aporro genuinely thought that the scene might have been worthy of a performance award – he'd managed to perfectly mimic all the humility he did not feel, and found the perfect, frightened and small voice in which to state all of the advantages Aizen could draw from allowing him a position outside the hierarchy. It was, of course, not that he feared for his life – but that he sincerely feared that Aizen would lose an honest, capable and dedicated servant, who would not be able to fully give his master all that he desired to. He was, of course, stricken with the deepest gratitude at the trust that Aizen-sama had chosen to give him, but felt that he had done nothing yet to deserve standing in such close proximity to the Creator's genius, and would have felt much more at ease in a justifiably humble – and hopefully, completely invisible – position.

The situation had probably been the most dangerous one Szayel Aporro had exposed himself to in his entire existence, for there had been no guarantee that Aizen would not simply rid himself of a tool with no immediate uses. Still, the Creator had seemed amused by his underling's honesty, and removed Szayel Aporro from the Espada ranks, not forgetting to warn that he would expect to understand the benefits the Arrancar promised in the very near future.

Szayel Aporro had no intention of tarrying.

At the time when he had asked to be removed from the Ninth Espada seat, the first prototype of the reiatsu synthesis machine was already functional; since the too public environment that the unranked Numeros shared neither fit Szayel's rather reclusive personality nor his research needs, he had quickly oriented himself towards an Espada who had no Fracciones and was eager for the sort of services Szayel could provide.

Stating that he had seduced his way into Cirucci Thunderwitch's service would have been a large overstatement. Seduction implied effort from the part of the seducer, and at least some form of resistance from the behalf of the target. It had not been the case. Cirucci's sexual conduct was at least as wanton as Szayel's own, and she was equally needy. The difference between the two lied in the fact that Cirucci always expected some form of material gain from her sexual favours, and did not truly enjoy most of her lovers.

Not a thoroughly incomprehensible situation, given the fact that, at the time when Szayel Aporro had made himself available, she had set whatever little mind she possessed on gaining Barragan's favour and obtaining the Cuarta seat. The pursuit had been unsatisfactory in any number of ways – the Primera, had, of course, been wise enough not to share the fact that he had no influence over the Espada rankings, and that, in truth, Ulquiorra Schiffer's seat was the only seat that was carved in solid rock. He had, however, thoroughly taken advantage of Cirucci's offer, allowing her to play submissive kitten to an inadequate lover for as long as he possibly could.

The dimensions of Cirucci's insatisfaction, had, therefore, been tremendous – not only because she was a thoroughly demanding lover, but also because the particular nature of her tastes would normally have led her to domination games she could not possibly conduct with any of those from whom she hoped to obtain advantages.

Szayel Aporro, whose sexual imagination was only surpassed by the creativeness he applied to his circuitry, and who almost unconditionally enjoyed any kind of sensual encounter, had therefore been a perfect choice. Cirucci's extreme desires had challenged even Szayel's tremendous potential for adaptation, but he had quickly learned to display more pain than he actually felt, and, in exchange for his tolerance, obtained enough space and privacy to conduct his experiments.

Cirucci had never truly noticed that her domination over her Fraccion did not extend beyond the doors of the bedchamber, and she had never noticed that within a week of having taken the delicate, frail and yielding pink haired Arrancar as Fraccion, she had started speaking and acting out his thoughts, and not her own. That aspect had not been problematic either; aside for attempting to advance by any means necessary, Cirucci had few other thoughts. Growing every day, like a white, and unstoppable fungus, Szayel's machinery had crept and extended all though the fifth tower, almost to the point where Cirucci could only claim the bedchamber as her own. The first versions of Lumina and Verona had been created; Medazepi had followed, and, once the method and the accompanying machinery had proven a success, the rest of the army had walked out of the synthesis machine, one after the other – three hundred and eighty in all, all variations on the theme of Szayel's own reiatsu, but each boasting different body shapes and concentrations of power that surpassed those of Barragan's un-made Adjuchas.

With his defense mechanism in place, and with the knowledge that he had the ability of manipulating reiatsu into solid form, Szayel Aporro had immediately begun to wonder the opposite – if spiritual energy could be channelled and given shape, was in not possible that spiritual energy could be channelled _out_ of solid shapes as well? The notion had great and wonderful potential, and he'd set about it with all due haste, and with such ardour that Cirucci had begun becoming aware that by now, though she was still in absolute control of their sessions, he was in control over when the sessions occurred. In truth, the encounters had become somewhat rare – partly due to the fact that Szayel was deeply absorbed with his piles of equations that he could not even pretend to tolerate distractions, and partly because even though Cirucci still managed to up the level of pain at every encounter – perhaps taking unconscious revenge at the fact that she had lost control of every other aspect of their relationship - the novelty had begun wearing thin.

If there was anything besides simplicity that Szayel Aporro despised, it was repetition and boredom.

And normally, he despised waiting, even if it was in the immediate proximity of the Hougyaku. Though being near the gem always gave him a momentous rush, he hated standing outside the chamber, with the rest of the unranked Numeros, while Cirucci was inside it.

Today, however, he did not.

Not with so much thoroughly worrisome entertainment going on about.

There were, indeed, many things about Szayel Aporro Granz that were completely unlike anyone else in Las Noches; things that were misunderstood, misinterpreted or simply too odd to believe. But at least one thing that applied to all the hollow denizens of Hueco Mundo applied to him as well.

The true punishment in Hell was not constantly being exposed to the things one hated. It was not being able to get away from the things one loved.

* * *

The one thing that Neliel Tu could never comprehend was why some folks always walked around with the facial expressions that seemed to state they had just bitten into a lemon. She pondered the subject as her friendly salute towards Halibel went without an answer, and the other female Arrancar's frozen gaze washed over her like a swat of cold water.

As far as Neliel Tu was aware, there was no real reason why Halibel would always be so cold towards her. The fact that Halibel's strength far surpassed Neliel's own was known to all, as was the fact that the Tercera Espada standing meant little to the current holder of the rank. Neliel would have relinquished it in a moment, had it led to folks being less weird in her presence.

Although, admittedly, Halibel's weirdness was OK, when compared to Nnoitra's.

On the other hand, Neliel admitted to herself, Nnoitra at least didn't go around looking like he had bitten into a lemon; he went around looking like he was gonna bite something else – probably, somebody else's head – off, at the first chance he got.

'Hey! Yo! Nellie!'

The Tercera Espada turned around, and smiled wide at the form of address that would have made all of the other Espada – with Grimmjow Jaggerjaques' notable exception – frown and demand proper respect.

The Segunda Espada's Fraccion ran towards her at speed that approached Sonido, and that allowed her no time to watch where she was going; the fact that she managed not to trample anyone in the corridor that passed in front of Aizen's antechamber, and which was always crowded, as if the Creator had had a magnetic pull, was a clear miracle.

Neliel Tu chuckled, but, before she looked down to the little girl, she could not fail but notice that the glance that Halibel had cast over her shoulder, and which had not simply been cold, but filled with burning, explicit hatred.

_History._

Oddly enough, Neliel had thought, frowning, the gaze was not focused on herself, but rather on the blonde girl. To further Neliel's amazement, the blonde sustained the glance, her one visible eye charged with as much hatred and fury as Halibel's stare.

_There was history here._

Like all of the others that had achieved their human bodies only after the occurrence of the Hougyaku, Neliel Tu had only vague memories of her time as an Adjucha, and of the time she had spent knowing that Vasto Lorde existed and that they had to be feared. During those years, she hadn't known that Vasto Lorde also possessed a level of self awareness far superior to that of ordinary Hollows, and though, after her transformation, she had caught numerous hints that pointed at the fact that Stark and Halibel had known each other long before Aizen had crossed into Hueco Mundo, the nature of the two Vasto Lorde's relationship had never been clear to her.

When asked about it, Stark had never produced more than a brief chuckle before abruptly switching subject, and Lilinette had not proved more talkative. Their combined silence had made Neliel think that, whatever it had been, it had been at least as bad as Stark's history of conflict with Ulquiorra Schiffer, and she had stopped insisting.

Sometimes, though, Neliel thought, it didn't look like Halibel's history had been with Stark. Actually, most of the time, it looked as if her history had been with Lilinette.

She did not have time to dwell on the notion; the exchange had been brief enough to seem an illusion, and when the Segunda Fraccion had looked up to meet Neliel's gaze, the look of childish excitement on her features and in her rounded pink eye had made the previous, all too mature and charged leer, appear almost impossible.

'So what's Peshce and Dondochakka cookin'?' the blonde girl asked, without feeling the need for any other introduction. 'I want something sweet. Or something pickled.'

'Something sweet and pickled?' Neliel chuckled.

'How would that work?' the blonde asked, in sincere confusion.

'I don't know,' the Espada shrugged, with equal honesty. 'But let's go check it out.'

The little girl nodded eagerly, and set out ahead, leaving Neliel little choice but to follow at a rather hasty pace.

Despite the size and shape of her body, Lilinette, carried herself with as much poise and self assurance as any of the Espada. Whereas other Fracciones, when not in the company of their superiors, slinked close to the walls, as if praying to go unobserved, Lilinette walked, or rather, pranced straight down the middle of the corridor, and woe to those who did not get out of her way fast enough.

Her body looked like that of a thirteen year old; she was barely shoulder high to Neliel, thin and wiry, and but for the fact that she wore an attire that left her budding shape hopelessly uncovered, she could as well have been mistaken for a boy of the same age. She was, nonetheless, pretty, in an asexual, angel-like way, and Neliel had often wondered if, once Lilinette attained an adult body, she'd put all of the other beauties of Las Noches to shame – not necessarily by sheer physical qualities, but through the fact that she exulted wall crushing confidence with each of her movements.

Indeed, by simply looking at Lilinette's body, it was easy to forget that she was far older than Neliel – almost three centuries old, if rumours were to be believed. It was also easy to forget that she boasted levels of reiatsu that surpassed all of the other Fracciones, and that, had she not been so tightly bound to her Espada and so thoroughly uninterested in anything that did not explicitly involve torturing Stark awake, sweets, running or playing mind numbing tricks on everyone else, she could well have aspired to a seat of her own.

The fact that the thought had not even crossed Lilinette's mind made Neliel like her even more, and, while walking behind the young girl, the Espada admitted to herself that she was truly happy for the blonde's friendship. The Gods alone knew how difficult it had been to earn, and that it had finally materialized when the brief relationship between Stark and Neliel had come to a predictable end.

Yet, unlike most things, the heavy cloud of Stark's kind, but nonetheless implacable rejection had turned out to be more of a silver lining. His sexual interest in her had indeed vanished as if it had never been, but neither the Segunda Espada nor his Fraccion had made themselves scarce, and Neliel had not suddenly found herself alone. She could always count on Lilinette's company and on his jibes at the artificial new order, and she had no doubt that, had she asked him to intervene, Stark would have put an end to Nnoitra's boring, envious attacks. In truth, she had lost a lover but gained two friends.

In the end, Neliel thought, hastening her pace to catch up with Lilinette, who had, in turn, almost caught up with Halibel, it was not _that bad._

'So, what's Stark up to?' she asked, out of habit.

Lilinette waved her tiny hand in utter disgust.

'Sleeping, what else?' she answered. 'There's an Espada meeting this afternoon, and he's gotta have his beauty nap before that.'

'An Espada meeting?' Neliel wondered, with a slight frown. 'How is it that you know all of this stuff and I don't?'

'Meh, cuz I'm always inside an' paying attention to shit, while you're always outside and playing with locust man.'

Neliel's good mood evaporated at the hidden reproach.

'Seriously, Lili,' she sighed. 'You say that as if I'm enjoying it.'

'Tesla thinks you do,' Lilinette matter-of-factly responded. 'Else ya should have killed him a long time ago.'

'It's not that simple,' Neliel said, softly.

The Fraccion stopped, and briefly looked over her shoulder; the expression on her features made Neliel shudder slightly.

The Tercera Espada was not a silly or unrealistic creature, although she sometimes appeared as such. Few understood that her apparent naiveté was a personal, controlled choice, rather than a shortcoming, and that the fact that Neliel Tu sometimes stubbornly chose to see only what she wanted to see made her interior life a lot more peaceful. Precisely because she had made the choice of liking Lilinette, she really disliked moments like these, when the Fraccion's malice was neither innocent nor childish.

'I think in his case, it oughta be,' the blonde girl said. ''Cuz he's ugly an' annoying, and if you ain't playing with him, he's always following ya around.'

Neliel opened her mouth to protest, but she didn't get the chance.

'Like, now, for instance,' Lilinette said, her rounded pink eye narrowed to the width of a sword's edge.

A horrible smirk imprinted on his features, Nnoitra Jiruga emerged from the darkness of one of the many corridors they had just passed. His gigantic weapon, a dark, sharp half moon shaped scythe was carelessly flung over his left shoulder, and though it looked almost too heavy to carry, the skinny Arrancar clearly posed no effort.

'Mind your own business, you snotty little brat,' he hissed, between his teeth.

The poisonous tone of the remark made Neliel purse her lips dangerously.

'Are you following me, Nnoitra?' she asked.

The man's beady single pupil shone with focused hatred, a clearly implied positive response, before he grinned wide and proceeded to lie shamelessly.

'I ain't,' he said. 'Far as I know, you're not the queen of Las Noches, Neliel Tu. Rest of us are still allowed to come an' go as we fucking please.'

Instead of striding by, however, he stopped dangerously close to the two women, his blade gleaming in the bright sunlight.

Nnoitra stood almost eight feet tall. His frame seemed to be constructed out of iron coils, rather than flesh and bone, and looking at him – at his pointy features, wide mouth, with lips so thin that they were almost non-existent, and to the mad gleam in his slanted eye, Neliel Tu wondered why she had ever mistaken this creature's dangerous insanity for self assurance, and why, in the time before Stark, she had thought she could part-take in it, and feel more self-assured in turn.

But it had not only been that; Neliel Tu found it almost impossibly hard to give up on others' humanity – and humanity implied reason and logic. She had, therefore, thought that something rational must have stood behind Nnoitra's hate and aggression towards her and, rather than crushing him as most others would have done, she had kindly attempted to understand why he felt so compelled to endanger his life by constantly attacking her.

The course of action had been the worse Neliel could have picked, but she had only allowed herself to see that after not even sexual abandon could make him hate her less, or feel less competitive towards one who had no interest in competing. In the end of the brief and ill fated affair she had had to admit that Nnoitra's aggression had no logic or reason, and that, if he had ever possessed any trace of humanity, it was long gone. The pain of the realization, as well as the pity she felt for the man still stopped her sword inches before a killing blow, and though she understood that each time she defeated him without ending his life she did no more than feed the fires of his hatred, Neliel could not bring herself to stop him once and for all, as everyone, including Lilinette thought she should have.

'Ya know, Neliel Tu,' he drawled, 'hanging with snotty 'ere ain't gonna bring Stark back.'

'That's none of your business,' Neliel answered, attempting to turn away from the provocation, though she had definitely felt the sting. Through the corner of her eyes, she noted that Halibel had stopped and turned towards them to watch the scene, arms crossed over her chest.

'In fact,' the man continued, twisting the scythe's long handle between his fingers, and causing the dark half moon to rotate slowly, 'I'm more thinking along the lines that she brings it up, and you put it down...'

'Ya're looking for a flat nose, ha, Nnoitra,' Lilinette answered, in Neliel's stead.

'Leave it Lili, he's not worth it,' the Tercera began, despite the fact that her cheeks had turned crimson, both at the words and at the fact that the other female Arrancar had obviously heard them, and drawn closer.

'Well?' the man insisted, his insane grin stretching from one corner to the other of his elongated face. 'Ain't it the truth, Lilinette?'

Neliel Tu opened her mouth – not to respond to the insult, but rather to inform Nnoitra that she saw what he was trying to accomplish and that he would fail; unfortunately, Lilinette, who either did not understand that the Octava was trying to provoke her in hopes of provoking Neliel, or simply did not care about it, stepped right up to the fight.

Literally.

Within a single Sonido step, she came to stand between the two Espada and within a foot of the man who was twice as tall as she was. Her hand propped on her hip, and her pink eye shining with vicious excitement, Lilinette looked upwards, to the scythe's menacing blade.

'Ya know, Nnoitra,' she dreamily began, 'I hear all of y'all have a limited amount of reiatsu.'

The Octava frowned.

'Yeh, just so,' the Fraccion continued. 'An' since the amount of reiatsu is limited, there's only so much of it ya can put in random parts of yourself – so, I gotta wonder! If so much of your reiatsu went into making that thingy,' she said, pointing at the weapon, while she stared at his groin with no trace of shame, 'there couldn't have been that much left over to go into other...thingies.'

The man's frown turned into a snarl.

Neliel Tu's first instinct proved correct and sufficiently hasty – she grabbed Lilinette by the shoulders, dragging her back, but, unlike what she had expected, the weapon that Nnoitra had brought into a lightning fast, wide arch did not slam into the floor. Furious, burning sparks flew nonetheless, as the dark blade stopped against the scabbard of Halibel's blade.

'What the fuck!' Nnoitra began, but it was all he could utter. As if his weapon had been a mere twig, it was pushed to the side, and the pink, flat scabbard of the female Arrancar's sword slapped him squarely across the face, causing blinding light and pain to explode behind his eyes. When the light had faded, the Octava found himself pressed against the wall, with the unyielding weapon cutting his air intake, and Halibel's frozen, green eyes, mere inches from his.

'You are creating a disturbance outside Aizen-sama's antechamber. This behaviour must not continue,' Halibel hissed.

'What the fuck!' Nnoitra all but squealed. 'Didn't you hear what that little bitch said to me?'

'Disciplining other Espada's Fracciones is not within your remit,' Halibel responded, flatly.

'And it ain't your place to control seated Espada...'

The stone wall behind him cracked with sudden pressure, the sound of broken stone covering the sound of broken bones; Nnoitra's rib cage became inches flatter, and his cheeks grew crimson.

'Say that again. As if you believed it, this time.' Halibel chuckled, her face drifting even closer. 'Insect,' she hissed.

A think trickle of blood escaped in between Nnoitra's tightly clenched lips.

'You are causing a disturbance,' she repeated. 'You will cease immediately.'

The Octava contented himself on a sheepish nod; he fell to his knees, coughing painfully as Halibel turned away to face a thoroughly stunned Neliel Tu.

'Given his disposition, I find it supremely ironic that his released form belongs to a species where the female consumes the male after mating,' she said, indifferently; under her gaze, which had the colour of emeralds and was equally lifeless and distant, Neliel Tu suddenly felt like a young child before a stern educator. She clasped Lilinette closer, without noting that the girl was pointedly struggling out of her embrace.

'Y...yes,' Neliel managed to articulate.

Above the visor, Halibel's green gaze became cutting.

'Your tolerance of his aggression disturbs us all, Tercera Espada Neliel Tu- _sama_,' she said, her voice completely deprived of any trace of respect. 'It is your part of your duty in Aizen-sama's service to see that such disturbances are kept to a minimum inside of Las Noches.'

Neliel swallowed dry.

Why was it, she wondered, that Halibel left her so completely, hopelessly confused?

'I understand,' she said, her voice far more shaky than she would have liked.

'What the hell, Nellie! What do you understand?' Lilinette exploded, finally struggling free. 'And what business is it of yours, Halibel, huh? Why do ya have to mingle?'

Far from appearing grateful, Lilinette appeared enraged, and all but ready to pounce on Halibel as she had pounced on Nnoitra. Halibel had half turned away, and, feeling that her friend's reaction was out of bounds, Neliel looked down, preparing to scold Lilinette for the words. Yet, without allowing Neliel the time to do so, Halibel spun on herself, at a slow, studied speed that made her stunning physical shape appear majestic; the Fraccion clenched her tiny jaws, but did not back away as the golden skinned, blonde female Arrancar kneeled in front of her, to match her height, and look into her eyes.

'That was an intelligent play, Lilinette,' Halibel said, in a chilling, low, tone. 'Very, very bright. Too bad I am a firm believer in individual survival.'

'Excuse me?' Neliel breathed, not knowing whether Halibel's words surprised her more than the furious and knowing expression on Lilinette's features.

The blonde adult Arrancar looked up at the Tercera, irony lurking in the depths of her eyes. She did not speak to Neliel, however; in the same mild, unconcerned tone, she continued to speak to Lilinette.

'Even less so if the individual in question does not understand the actions performed on their behalf.'

'Excuse me? Would you like to speak as if I was present?' Neliel snarled.

Halibel's glance lingered on Neliel's face, but she remained silent for a few seconds longer. Then, with royal grace, she straightened, and though her reiatsu scraped at Neliel's skin, the Tercera did not back down.

'Allow me to explain, then, Tercera Espada Neliel Tu-sama,' she said. 'Your inaction in Nnoitra's regard is causing great concern with Lilinette. Because, like the under-grown creature she is, she understands that the power levels of transformed Adjuchas change over time and that, given sufficient time and sufficient lassitude on your behalf, Nnoitra will grow above you. This week, or perhaps, the week after. And since Lilinette prefers you...Since Lilinette likes you,' Halibel dryly corrected, 'the thought causes _much _concern with her. Not as much concern with Stark,' Halibel continued. 'Or at least, not as much concern as an attack or an attempted attack on Lilinette would. Which is precisely what Lilinette was trying to opportunistically cause, here.'

Halibel's eyes narrowed just as Neliel's widened in shock.

'When the time comes, and Nnoitra grows above you, Stark will not move a finger on your behalf; you may think the opposite, but both I and Lilinette know you are simply deceiving yourself.' Halibel said. 'But if Nnoitra harmed a hair on Lilinette head, Stark would stand to attention within a heartbeat.'

'Bullshit. Let's go, Nellie,' Lilinette said, grabbing the Tercera's arm. Neliel did not budge; instead, she looked down at the little girl, in utter confusion.

'Is that what you were doing, Lilinette?' she asked, softly.

'Like hell I was,' the Fraccion shrugged. 'Like I'd ever think up something like that.' Her face lit up with malicious amusement. 'Shit like that's for jealous, unoccupied women to sit an' think about.'

The expression on Halibel's face did not change. She simply crossed her arms over her chest, sustaining Neliel's leer for a few seconds longer, until, finally giving in to Lilinette's not overly gentle tug, the Tercera reluctantly started down the corridor. The questioning looks she cast over her shoulder were not rewarded by any change in the blonde Arrancar's attitude. Nor did Neliel's attempts at stopping Lilinette's march yield any success; the only moment of respite she was allowed was the moment when, after finally having passed between Halibel's three companions, and scattering them like a powerful gust of wind might have scattered snow, Lilinette stopped, spun around, and stuck her tongue out at Halibel.

She then disappeared around the bend of the corridor, yanking Neliel Tu's arm powerfully enough to almost dislodge her shoulder.

It was only after the two had left her sight that Halibel's glance finally started gathering thunder and lightning, her reiatsu howling so furiously that her companions did not dare approach, and all the other Numeros that had silently watched the scene drew closer to the walls in fright. In his turn, Nnoitra cackled manically.

'Kid struck a bit close to the mark, eh?'

A disgusting screech, something that sounded like metal against metal, emerged from underneath Halibel's visor.

'I should like to sit as an Espada before long, Nnoitra,' she said, dryly.

'Well,' the Octava said, hoisting himself by leaning on his blade. 'Maybe ya shouldn't be gettin' in my way then.'

The woman's glance turned on him, and the mere force of her fury pushed him back against the wall. In complete opposition to the anger in her eyes, her voice was thoroughly detached.

'Do not deceive yourself into thinking that foolish girl is standing in my way, or that I require your participation to replace her, Nnoitra.'

'From the Tercera seat?' the Octava laughed. 'No, woman, I don't think you need any help replacing her from _there_. I am very sure that you'd only have to ask for the rank; but then,' he snarled, 'Aizen-sama would remove her and send her to Privaron, alive an' well, an' since Stark don't give a shit about rankings, she'd still be a constant thorn in yer pretty green eye.'

Though he behaved like a fool, Nnoitra was not foolish. He didn't understand too much, either, but he understood enough to grasp the truth – it was not that Halibel was, or ever had been jealous of Neliel Tu. She would have had no reason to; the motives of Stark's relationship to the Tercera had not been romantic or even sexual. Anyone with half a brain, aside for the Tercera herself, would have noticed the logic behind the affair.

Stark was just as non-combative as Neliel Tu was, in the same off-pissing, superior manner, and that neither of the two looked forward to Aizen's agenda against the Sereitei. The difference between them was the fact that after having spent two centuries on top of the food chain, Stark understood the importance of allies. And, since Neliel Tu was, by accident, strong enough to be one, he'd sought to befriend her in the way that suited her best – not with sex, but with whatever illusion of romance, companionship and safety he could create. Judging by Neliel's attitude, he'd done a bloody brilliant job, too. He'd served her exactly what she thought she needed.

Fuck knew how Neliel Tu managed to look and act so smug while being inwardly afraid of every speck of dust in the universe.

Had Nnoitra been slightly more poetic – or endowed with a greater vocabulary – he'd have likened the Tercera to a strangling fig; the girl simply could not grow roots of her own, and she always sought to attach herself to someone who could provide them. Ironically, however, her _hosts_ instantly recognized the strength she did not see in herself, and knew all too well that the strangling fig always ended up killing the tree it clung to. Thus, quite simply put, Neliel Tu always got dumped at the precise moment when she started feeling safe.

But Stark had been smarter than most; he'd dumped her too, just like everyone else, but kept her close enough for her to feel that there was comfort and hope of a new start. If there was one word that described a strangling fig, it was _clingy_. As long as the Segunda acted in a certain way, Neliel Tu would always cling to him – not in bed, no. But in the council chamber, giving his passive resistance and implied mistrust of Aizen's plans a leg to stand on.

And that, Nnoitra knew, was the reason why Halibel despised Neliel Tu. Because she thought that a non-combative ally made Stark even less eager to fight by God's side.

Because she thought Neliel Tu diminished Stark's drive. Held him back from _greatness_.

Not that any of it mattered to Nnoitra. The fact that he understood how things were didn't mean that he thought about them too often.

What he did think about, constantly, was that he hated Neliel Tu.

The next flex of Halibel's reiatsu did not sweep him off his feet, but broke on his frail, upright shape like a green wave upon a grey rock, scattering to the sides; she unwillingly frowned as the man straightened fully.

'Ya can't catch me unprepared three times in a row,' Nnoitra drawled. The long chain that tied the scythe to his waist rattled as he unconcernedly flung the weapon on his shoulder – his face had returned to its deathly pallor. As he took a step closer, the female noticed that no outer trace of her attack remained.

'Yeh,' he cackled, noting the surprised look in her eyes. 'I heal fast. So let's respect each others a bit more, huh?'

'I see nothing to respect before me,' the female declared. 'And if you believe we are somehow on the same side, you are yet again deceiving yourself, Octava Espada. The reason why I intervened was that you were making a fool of yourself and the gifts Aizen-sama chose to bestow upon you in front of a wide audience. Unlike your regular habit, of making a fool out of yourself in private,' she continued, dryly. 'You cannot defeat her; you are not only too weak, but also too unskilled, and the display sickens me.'

Nnoitra gritted his teeth.

'Because I will sit as an Espada before long,' Halibel added, in the same haughty, undisturbed tone, 'I would much prefer it if you did not make such public displays of stupidity. Attempting to provoke Neliel Tu within Las Noches is a clear breach of discipline, while attacking Lilinette and awakening Stark is sheer self-sabotaging folly. When I sit at Aizen-sama's table, I should like to feel like his gifts of strength and reason were not wasted on all of my companions.'

Or maybe it wasn't that Neliel Tu held Stark back from greatness, Nnoitra thought, with a smirk. Maybe it was that Neliel Tu stood in the way of Stark contributing to God's greatness.

'So far,' Halibel added, 'I already believe his gifts are wasted on Neliel Tu. Your perpetual failures with her, and her constant failure of putting you in your place only reinforce that. Her presence insults me and Aizen-sama more than yours does.'

_The way is open._

'I'll get her,' Nnoitra snarled. 'Dontcha worry, Halibel, dontcha worry a second. I'll get her; just like you put it - if not this week, then the week after. But I'll fucking get her.'

For a fraction of a second, the Octava Espada imagined that under her visor, Halibel had been smiling. Not as if she had doubted his words, but as if she had believed them.

'As you say, Nnoitra-_sama,' _Halibel responded, turning away. 'As you say.'

She walked away and the crowd of Numeros slowly regained its fluidity; satisfied with what they had just witnessed and with the rich gossip they'd be able to spread, onlookers started moving away from the scene.

Nnoitra was oblivious to them all, as if his hatred had been a physical shroud over his eyes. He did not stop to wonder why this woman, the haughty blonde woman, did not inspire the same resentment that the other one did, though both of them were the same sort – type that acted all tough with a sword in their hand, but melted to wax 'tween the sheets. His sheets, Stark's sheets or Aizen's sheets. Fuck knew, fuck cared.

But whereas Halibel was so strong that she was almost male in Nnoitra's eyes – for all that one lacked to be a man was proper balls – Neliel Tu remained a bloody woman, with her annoying little voice and her stupid little giggle, with her accursed speeches on morality and reason...Halibel didn't spew none of those, no.

What Halibel had said, though, was that the way was open. That if Nnoitra could truly _get_ Neliel Tu, he would not even have to hide it.

Not that the Octava Espada cared much about endorsement or punishment, or shit like that; still, it was sure nice to feel...

Nnoitra grinned wide.

...so trusted.

* * *

The excitement of the previous night's breakthrough, which had been wonderfully akin to an eight hour long orgasm, had been brutally yanked from him. Oddly enough for a man who liked to thoroughly enjoy his successes, the loss of the sensation was the last thing Szayel Aporro was thinking of. The very, very last.

Instead, he was considering all the small unpleasant details that he normally deferred until the end of his euphoric state; a million little details, unbalanced equations and unfinished pieces of circuitry. It was true, it was true – the first prototype of the machine was functional, but...It was not enough that he had managed to discover what he had been searching for, and certainly not enough that the first prototype of his greatest creation yet had proven a success in early testing. The test subjects had had too simple a reiatsu make up, and quite a few of them had been drained into non-existence.

It was not ready.

But it should have been.

It would have to be, soon.

Szayel Aporro bit his lower lip, clenching his wrist even tighter behind his back.

Though he had little reiatsu of his own, Szayel Aporro had very finely tuned – and carefully enhanced – reiatsu sensing abilities. Some Arrancar could detect and measure a single reiatsu wherever it might have been; others could locate a myriad within a range. Szayel Aporro sensed not only what reiatsu levels another had, but also its makeup, combination and recombination possibilities, possible shapes and, most of all, its unused potential.

And Nnoitra Jiruga had a lot of that, just on hand – every day, with every battle, he pushed himself closer to achieving it. He would, before too long.

Was it that Neliel Tu was the only person who didn't realize it? Szayel wondered. Or was it that she did not care, or worse, was it that she had confidence that the _good guys always win in the end?_

That assertion was wrong; the simple fact that Neliel Tu was here proved it wrong. She hadn't won, in the end of the human life she mercifully did not remember. And she would not win this.

'Nnoitra.'

The Octava Espada's pin-point pupil settled on Szayel Aporro, and it was clear that Nnoitra was struggling to recognize him; under different circumstances, Szayel might have been grievously offended.

'...the hell are you?' Nnoitra asked; as Szayel took a step closer, the Octava's features lit up. 'Aha.' He said. 'The _former _Ninth.'

Szayel's smile was thin.

'If you will,' he answered. 'However, since I am a firm believer in the fact that our identities are strongly defined by exterior circumstances, currently, I am your single best friend.'

'What makes you say that, Fraccion?' Nnoitra laughed.

'The fact that my intuition tells me you would, indeed, like to _get_ Neliel Tu.'

'Ha!' the Octava incredulously exclaimed. 'An' your business with that is...?'

'The fact that I am in the fortunate position to help you do it.'

Szayel's eyes narrowed behind the thick frames of his glasses.

'If you would like to do it next week, rather than next month, that is.'

He started down the corridor, knowing that despite the incredulous, mocking expression on his features, Nnoitra would follow.

A week.

It would have to do.


	3. Ascension Part 1: The Void

* * *

Good evening :) And many thanks for your kind words on what has passed :)

Two installments one after the other tonight - simply because these were too long to post together :) I would, however, kindly ask you to read them one after the other. They tend to belong together, and no logic can break them apart.

Ascension part 1: Where Szayel Aporro barely gets a word in. Illfordt and Grimm get many words in, and none of them are nice.

* * *

The blonde's fist connected with the other's jaw at lightning speed – the target did not even have time to blink, let alone dodge, and helplessly fell back, hitting the back of his head on the wall behind.

_Have you heard about it?_

The corridors of Las Noches carried sound at amazing speed; sometimes, to Illfordt it felt as if the corridors, with their eyes and ears, and whispered voices knew of things before they even happened.

The daze caused by the hit only decreased the other's reaction time, and he did not even tense. The swift kick that followed made him coil defensively and let out a small, strangled moan – straightening did not prove wise, as the next kick caught him in the chest, making him cough.

_Nnoitra Jiruga has killed the Tercera Espada! The third seat is empty!_

But he couldn't have done it alone. That much was obvious to anyone who knew how long Nnoitra had hated Neliel Tu; how much he had resented the fact that she was stronger; how he'd tried to make himself forget about his grudge by forcing it into lust; how he'd tried to bury his rage against her while burying himself in her sex; how he had failed – failed to fuck her into submission; how, in the end, he'd impotently hated her even more.

He couldn't have done it alone.

Szayel Aporro looked up, wiping the bloodied corner of his lips.

'Are you quite satisfied now?' he asked, ironically; though his breath was ragged, and his lower lip was crushed, he was smiling detachedly. As if he'd been the one on the offensive. As if he'd not been on the floor, looking up.

'Not by a long shot, bro'' Illfordt breathed, grabbing his brother by the collar, and dragging the lithe Arrancar back to his feet. 'Not by a long shot...'

His arm tensed by his side, knuckles cracking with tension.

Szayel Aporro's smile – the bloody, fucking smile – did not fade.

'Hey! Yo!' Grimmjow intervened, his fingers wrapping around Illfordt's wrist with the decisive strength of a shackle. 'Back off!'

'Piss off, Grimm!'

'I said, back..._the fuck_...off!' the Sexta hissed, pulling Illfordt away, and though the blonde young man fought each step, he had no choice but to follow.

'You ain't the boss o'me!' Illfordt spat, shaking Grimmjow's fingers off. He furiously turned towards Szayel Aporro, who was still smiling – sweetly, politely. Blood trickled from the corner of his lips.

'No, dude, I ain't the boss of ya.' Grimmjow whispered. 'But if he starts fighting back you're gonna be in deep shit for no reason. Stuff's gonna be coming down now – ain't a good time to make waves. So be a smart boy and back off. For now.'

'For _now,'_ Grimmjow repeated, in a low snarl.

For a moment, Illfordt looked like he would not. There seemed to be no reason to, either – the small, delicate one, with his pink hair and glasses looked so weak, so frail, so helpless, that Grimmjow's words sounded painfully void of meaning. Szayel Aporro was alone. What could he possibly do? What could he possibly do, alone?

_Plenty._

Illfordt painstakingly reminded himself of that.

The weak-looking delicate one could do plenty, as he'd just found out. He didn't need to fight back or draw to do things either, which, in the end, pissed Illfordt off more than anything else – and the blonde did not pause to wonder if it was jealousy over the fact that Szayel Aporro had effectively done away with the Tercera Espada without even drawing his sword, or simple fear of the fact that Neliel Tu had not seen him coming. Fact was, Szayel Aporro was a dangerous piece of dead flesh. Dangerous in a way that nobody else was, worse, dangerous in a way that nobody else understood.

Illfordt Granz turned away from the polite smile on his brother's bloodied features, and started down the corridor at a hurried pace, cursing under his breath.

Grimmjow nodded in approval, and half spun about to start on the blonde's trail. Yet, though the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of Szayel's smile, which had gathered a triumphant flavour, and changed his mind. There was no way he'd let this one have the victory, the Sexta thought. No fucking way.

'You got pubes 'tween your teeth from all the dick sucking, Szayel Aporro,' the Sexta hissed.

'I am afraid that is impossible, Grimmjow-_sama,'_ the pink haired Arrancar sweetly returned. He had not thought the response through; he hadn't hesitated before speaking it. 'Aizen-sama is impeccably waxed.'

He'd said exactly what he should have said, on the perfect tone, and Grimmjow's features twisted into a grimace of disgust and rage, muscles drawing out as the understanding of the Fraccion's response dripped into his mind.

A threat? Had he grown bold enough to threaten? Or stupid enough to think Grimmjow cared?

Oddly enough, however, the disgust overshadowed the fury, which was probably what the bastard had intended – there was no way Grimmjow would lower himself to fight a Fraccion, especially one that didn't make a secret out of the fact that it had no real strength to speak of. Defeating him would not have shown anything anyone didn't already know of. Speaking the truth about how Szayel Aporro navigated though his existence had no effect either – the little piece of shit didn't really hide his ways, and thus, with weakness and perversion out in the open, he could neither be hurt by fists nor words.

And Szayel Aporro knew that, too, judging by the fact that he continued to smile softly and permissively, as one who saw the world from a great height and knew things that the rest of them didn't.

_Maybe he did._

'Shit,' Grimmjow muttered.

He finally turned away, catching up with Illfordt in two Sonido steps, and chewing on his resentment.

'What's with you, anyways?' he spat, directing his rage at the elder Granz, and feeling inwardly grateful for the fact that this one would respond in a way that he could process. 'So Nnoitra and your cocksucker of a brother did Neliel Tu over. What's it got to do with ya? Didn't have time to slip her one?'

'That ain't it,' Illfordt refuted flatly. The threateningly cutting line of his lower jaw would have made anyone else but Grimmjow back away; the Sexta insisted.

'Then what, dude, huh? What's it got to do with ya? You're acting like she was your woman...'

'I dunno what,' Illfordt answered, suddenly stopping and furiously turning towards the Sexta. 'I dunno what it's gotta do with me, right? I just feel that it has. They killed her, and I feel...I feel it,' he whispered, pressing his palm on his chest, 'here.'

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

'I feel I should've done something,' Illfordt muttered. 'I know it's none of my business, and that her death means squat to me – I've barely spoken to her twice, an' I wasn't waiting in line to either do her or take her seat... I just feel like I should have fucking known he'd hurt her, and that I should've done something about it. It's like...It's like it's happened before. An' I didn't stop it then, an' I didn't stop it now, though I owed her...'

'What did you owe her, dude?' Grimmjow asked – his voice was almost kind.

The Sexta was not one for subtleties, but of the few subtleties he understood, this was the largest. Even after their passage though the Hougyaku and subsequent evolution, Adjuchas did not fully regain memories of their human lives. Grimmjow himself hadn't.

They did, however, recover parts of their memories, not written in their brains, but written in their blood and in their bones, powerful, visceral impulses that they could neither resist nor explain, which nonetheless guided their actions, like so many invisible silk strings. Attempting to follow the strings, attempting to remember and understand why the strings pulled as they did was an exercise Grimmjow had given up on completely. It did not feel like running against a wall of spears that tore at one's flesh, it didn't feel like too much suffering, and it certainly didn't feel like one could see the light beyond the pain. It simply felt dry, white and implacable. Following the silk strands of memory brought one up against a heavy, disgustingly soft velvet curtain that did not hurt, but that didn't yield, either, so tall and wide that one could not glimpse behind it or over it. Pushing against it simply made one get wrapped and stifled in _nothing – _absolute lack of sensation, of purpose, of direction. It was just a simple and final _no_ that one could not suffer through or rip apart by sheer force of reiatsu.

Evolution to Vasto Lorde lay just beyond it.

And sometimes, on a fickle whim, the curtain wavered and drew aside of its own volition, offering brief glimpses of lives past, of reasons and meanings untold, which only made the strings pull harder.

'What did you owe her, Illfordt?' Grimmjow insisted kindly. Just because he didn't want to keep trying against the veil of lost memories didn't mean that others couldn't do so – in truth, the Sexta had never felt the need to fight the barrier. It was, perhaps the fact that simple reiatsu accumulation had been sufficient to bring him _here_. Or it was, perhaps, that his strings – his rage, his aggression, ultimately, his strength - pulled in a direction where he wanted to go. Since the transformation through the Hougyaku, however, Illford seemed to have gained the ability of peeking beyond the curtain, hinting at the fact that in this respect, his evolution was far from over. Grimmjow didn't mind it or fear it; their strength was his strength, just as his strength was theirs.

'I dunno,' Illfordt gave up, in a pained breath. 'I can't remember. I can't fucking remember. I just feel sorry...that she's gone.'

Grimmjow didn't push.

'If you're gonna start whining like a bitch, I'm gonna whack you over your stupid head,' Grimmjow growled, instead. Illford raised his glance, looking ready to protest with his fists. 'Nah, dude, that shit's fucking weak an' I don't wanna be hearing it from ya. If you can't remember a debt, you don't owe anyone anything,' the Sexta said, dryly. 'And now the deed's done, we can't turn the time, and beating Szayel Aporro to a pulp won't fix it.'

The Sexta smirked.

''Sides,' he continued, 'today's gonna be complex, dude. There's an Espada seat to fill. If I was you, I wouldn't mess with him now, Illfordt. No matter how satisfying it would be, OK? If we pull out his teeth, we don't know whose toys we're gonna be breaking. Last thing we wanna do is irk whomever's gonna sit Tercera before they're even sitting.'

'That's a chicken shit thing to say,' Illford growled. 'Shawlong's been pissing in your ear again.'

'Yeh, maybe,' Grimmjow responded, dryly, feeling untouched by the insult. The Sexta did not often value intelligence – that much was true, and on many other occasions, a simple hint of the fact that he was leaning towards a wise course of action would have hurled Grimmjow in the opposite direction. This time, however, it was not only the thought of Shawlong's advice that made him reluctant to act.

_No._

It was the not the fact that he _thought _something was amiss; it was that he felt it. In his stomach, and not in his brain.

'Look – I ain't gonna stop you again.' Grimmjow shrugged. 'You do what you gotta do; I'm just telling ya to give it a few hours, 'kay?'

Illford glanced at him rebelliously for a few seconds longer, then conceded, cursing under his breath.

'It bleeding makes me wanna do murder,' the blonde spat, shaking his head. 'The fact that _he_ can remember it, whatever the fuck it is that went before, but I can't, makes me wanna do murder, Grimm.'

Yes, Grimmjow thought, extending his arm and putting his hand on Illfordt's shoulder, he supposed it did.

'He's still weak as shit,' the Sexta concluded, reassuringly patting his companion on the shoulder, but doubting his own words even as he spoke them. 'Won't do him no good; there's only room for one at the table...'

'I beg to differ,' Shawlong said, approaching from the side.

'Dude, keep sneaking up on people like that and ya gonna get a bloody nose,' the Sexta said; the grin on his features implied the precise opposite of the threat. Shawlong didn't grin in return, but then, he almost never did. DiRoi grinned, however, as did Hakim and Eldorad, and, as the group gathered around himself and Grimmjow, making the world seem all right again, Illfordt took a pointed, deep breath, and visibly calmed down.

The expression of Shawlong's eyes made the scorpion look even more grave than usual, and Grimmjow cranked his nose. He was not going to like this.

'You have heard about Neliel Tu, I assume,' Shawlong said.

'Yeh,' Grimmjow confirmed. 'It's a small world, dude. The news must have made it six times round Las Noches, and it ain't even two hours since.'

Illfordt sighed, pushing the stubborn feeling of regret out of his mind. He didn't miss the fact that Grimmjow's hand still rested on his shoulder, and he felt grateful for it. And, in the end, the blonde reminded himself, nothing else but _this_ – the Espada above him and his blood brothers around him – truly mattered. The rest of the world, including his sibling, could go to hell in a handbasket. As could all nagging doubts and sensations. Especially the ones he couldn't place. Especially the ones about his younger brother. Especially anything to do with Neliel Tu. He had no idea why he even cared. He hadn't even known her.

_Not in this life._

He shook his head, and the thought flew away, vanishing hastily, like a frightened bird.

'So what's the news, brain?' he asked, looking up at Shawlong's pointy features.

'On what subject?' the tall Arrancar returned, arching an ironic eyebrow.

'On whatever fucking subject,' Illfordt muttered. 'There's more than one?'

'Two,' DiRoi cackled.

'Hm?' Grimmjow asked, questioningly glancing at Shawlong. 'What else is up? Thought that Neliel Tu getting offed was the headline of the day.'

'That is an event,' Shawlong answered. 'Its importance lies in its multiple consequences and implications.'

He paused, glancing at Grimmjow as if asking for permission to continue. The Sexta considered it for a moment, then shoved his hands in his pockets.

'Not here,' he said dryly. 'Let's walk.'

He started walking, and the others followed; when they'd reached the end of the corridor, the Sexta vanished to Sonido. The others followed that, as well - they did not speak again until they'd been a mile outside the walls of Las Noches.

* * *

'You're an oaf.'

Contrary to the dry sound of the pronouncement, Lilinette's kick was stabbing and painful, and Stark rolled to the side, unwisely exposing his kidneys, and offering her a new target.

'Ow,' he muttered, when her tiny foot connected with his side. 'It hurts, Lilinette...'

'That's because you deserve it!' she huffed. 'Bloody fucking hell! Did you even notice it before it happened, huh?'

Most people would have thought the fact that the kicking had stopped was a good sign; Stark knew the precise opposite, and grimaced in pain before he painstakingly rolled over to look at his Fraccion. Lilinette stood two feet away from the mound of pillows on which he lay, towering above him from her massive four feet in height, her pink eye filled with thunder, and lightning, and promises of many sleepless hours to come.

'Yes,' he responded, deciding to get the worse out of the way and instinctively tensing his stomach to guard against the swift punishment that awaited his admission.

Instead of kicking him, though, Lilinette crossed her arms over her chest and scowled horribly.

'And?' she prompted.

Stark shrugged helplessly.

'What do you want me to do?'

'Well now it's rather moot, ain't it!' Lilinette exploded. 'Now it's already done!'

He stared at her, with as innocent an expression as he could muster.

'So...what do you want me to do?'

'Go an' kick the shit outta Nnoitra! Go curse at 'im! Or at least _look _bloody pissed or sad or thoughtful or something!' she yelled. 'She was our friend!'

Her expression softened, and her lower lip trembled.

'She was _your _friend,' the girl whispered. 'Wasn't she?'

Stark sighed, and lay back on his pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. He knew all too well that there was nothing he could offer her in terms of a satisfactory answer. He could not possibly tell her that for as likable Neliel Tu was, her demeanour had been so ill fitting to her status that his intervention against Nnoitra would have made no difference; that, even with Nnoitra gone, another enemy would have arisen – that if one had decided to protect Neliel Tu, it would become a full time, endless job?

Had she been slightly more mature, the former Tercera might have made a strong ally; as it had been, however she'd been too open with her feelings, too easily put off guard and too outspoken with her principles to be one. While all these made her likeable, none bode well for survival in Hueco Mundo, and Stark had seen far too many of Neliel's type be consumed by enemies that were weaker, but far more wily to believe that she would be any different. In truth, in the time when Stark himself had been _new_, he'd regarded enemies like Neliel Tu as easy prey – he saw no reason why Nnoitra would view her any differently, and no reason to rescue easy prey from certain doom.

The simple fact that he liked someone was not enough reason to justify any expenditure of energy on their behalf. Aside for sheer reiatsu absorption capabilities, focus was the single most powerful weapon of any Vasto Lorde. All those who had survived and grown old had saved their energies and only fought battles that mattered – to Stark, that was the difference between those that had already been Vasto Lorde at the time of the Shinigami's crossing, and the young, impatient Adjuchas like Neliel Tu, Grimmjow Jagguerjaques and Lilinette herself. The Adjuchas that had gained tremendous powers by the Hougyaku's intervention often made the mistake of assuming the power was limitless.

It was not, and it could not be wasted on things one merely liked. It could only be spent on those that one loved. But that, he knew all too well, was not something that Lilinette would accept for a response.

'You are everything I need, Lilinette,' he said, softly. 'And my only friend.'

The girl's glance softened, and she sighed in defeat. She let herself drop to the floor, crossing her legs.

'Still?' she inquired, in a kind voice.

He shrugged apologetically, awaiting her sentence.

'You're a wimp,' Lilinette muttered, pursing her lips.

And he was a wimp, Stark knew, not because he had not stood up for Neliel Tu, but because he hadn't had sufficient courage to like her enough; because, in spite of the transformation, he'd kept to his three century old safety zone. Because he still stood warily away from all the world that was not himself and Lilinette, keeping to his tower as he had kept within the borders of his territory and regarding all others as threats.

That particular aspect of life had changed for Lilinette since the Hougyaku transformation, and since the creation of Las Noches had brought her in contact with other humanised hollows. The fact that she had a social side that he'd never had to opportunity to observe did not bother him at all; on the contrary, as long as Lilinette was happy, he was quite happy in turn.

'No good can come outta this, Stark,' she sighed, standing up only to sit by his side on the pillows. His arm snaked around her waist, and, after she allowed him to pull her closer, she bent her right knee, resting her elbow on top of it. 'Cuz you an' I both know who's gonna be Tercera now.'

'Yes, we do,' he sighed, holding her even tighter. 'But at least Halibel will smile once in a while now, hm?' he attempted to joke. 'She'll get to see Aizen-sama at least every other day...This should make her very, very happy,' he added, in a voice that tried to sound cheerful, but wasn't.

'You're retarded,' Lilinette declared.

'Oh, come on. Halibel being Tercera is not entirely bad for us, Lilinette,' he added, in a rebellious tone, and knowing that this was yet another thing Lilinete did not want to think about. 'She can do a lot for us that Neliel couldn't. You _know_ this.'

'Nah,' the little girl muttered, frowning deeply, and refusing to acknowledge the truth in his words. Her tiny fingers dug into his arm. 'You just like Halibel better,' she whispered, clenching her jaws, holding her breath, and awaiting the contradiction.

'That's over,' he said, unconsciously holding her tighter.

'You always say that,' Lilinette muttered.

'Well this time I mean it,' Stark whispered. 'Don't twist the knife, huh?'

The Fraccion gave him a small smirk, letting him know she didn't believe him, but that she would let go out of the goodness of her heart.

'Fine then,' she huffed, at long length. 'You don't like Halibel as Tercera cuz you like her better, but because you actually managed to learn how to keep your brain asleep while you're talking.'

'Lilinette...' he began, only to be brutally cut off.

'What, then, huh? What can bloody Halibel do for us that Neliel couldn't?'

Stark's eyes narrowed as their glances met, and though Lilinette might have looked thirteen, and though she did not remember all the things she had lived, she too had the strings of memory ties to her heart, blood and bones.

_The eternal nemesis. The enemy that didn't go away._

'Ulquiorra,' she said, in a small voice.

He nodded.

'Yes,' Stark approved. 'Halibel can be a genuine threat to Ulquoirra. Both of them want the same thing – to be the apple of Aizen's eye...Unlike Neliel, who was no threat to him in that regard, Halibel will be the balance that keeps Ulquiorra's attempts for the Primera seat in check; if both of them try for it, they may end up wiping each other out...All the best for us. And even if they don't, the Tercera position gives her a lot of power over our old friend, Schiffer.'

'It will also give her enough guts to keep tryin' to baptize you in the new religion,' the little girl said, with vibrant hatred.

The man sighed, and she leaned back on his chest, putting her head on his shoulder.

'If you let them take out everyone that's not baptized, like you let them take out Nellie, Stark, soon ya're gonna be the only infidel around.'

'I'm not an infidel, Lilinette,' he chuckled. 'I'm just a humble sceptic.'

The girl looked up and frowned, pointedly communicating she was not interested in the linguistics of the matter, then winced as his grip on her shoulders became overly tight.

In this, the Segunda Espada knew, Lilinette was absolutely right. With Halibel, Aizen had gained yet another extremely powerful and loyal supporter; he'd already struck gold with Schiffer. The two could balance each other out, but if their common love of the Shinigami proved stronger than their jealousy of each other... If they were both faithful to him, and if he could gather but a few more that were as powerful and loyal as these two, Stark had a sneaking suspicion that Aizen, much like Lilinette, would not care for the difference between an infidel and a sceptic for very much longer.

* * *

Shawlong was saying something, wasn't he?


	4. Ascension Part 2: The Panther's Pride

* * *

Same chapter, part 2.

Hopelessly, I am cheering for Grimmjow & the pride.

* * *

Halibel stopped, assessing the state of the other Arrancar with a cold, dispassionate glance.

'You are not adept at making friends, Szayel Aporro Granz,' she said, watching the pink-haired Fraccion meticulously pat the corner of his lips with a small and seemingly wet tissue.

'I am seldom adept at things I do not try to accomplish, Halibel-sama,' he responded; he neatly folded the bloodied tissue, and placed it into a square and sealed plastic bag, that had been designed for that precise purpose; if he was not wearing his gloves, Szayel rarely touched anything without having sterilized it first, and, since he hated litter and disorder, he never tossed his alcohol wipes away at random. Nor could he afford to have one dirty tissue contaminating everything else he might have been carrying. Thus...

_A place for everything, and everything in its place, _Halibel thought.

'Also, I am thoroughly sure that I neither need nor want Grimmjow-sama's friendship,' he added, in a sweet tone that seemed to hint at the fact that he would have preferred other friendships. He clenched his hands around his back, then smiled as much as the broken corner of his lips allowed. 'I believe congratulations are in order, Halibel-sama,' he added.

'Thank you,' Halibel said, with a small amused grin.

There were few in Las Noches who did not anticipate her promotion to Tercera, but equally few who would speak about it so openly – the only one other person she would expect to mention it so casually was Stark; and he, Halibel knew, would not mention it _quite_ on the same genuinely congratulatory tone. Yet, that was only half the reason for Halibel's amusement.

Though Szayel Aporro's tone had indeed been nothing short of truthful, there had been something else underneath, a subtle variation in the man's reiatsu, no more than a breeze, a tiny hint he'd left her at liberty to disregard.

_If it hadn't been for me helping Nnoitra, it would have taken longer._

As much was, perhaps, true.

And now, he wanted something for himself, of course.

As, perhaps was only fair.

Halibel measured him at her ease for a few seconds longer, wondering why she had disregarded this one for so long. Perhaps, she thought, years and habitude were not always beneficial to one's attention.

She was one of the oldest Vasto Lorde in existence; as such, she had learned to prize sheer reiatsu strength above all other things. In the end, in a world where everyone's fate was to either consume others or be consumed, spiritual energy was the one common denominator for all. More often than not, whatever the individuals preserved of their former human natures proved detrimental – as Neliel Tu's fate proved, there was little space for emotions in Hueco Mundo, and especially at Aizen's table. Given that, it was almost too easy to forget that another relic of human nature, namely intelligence, could at points prove an advantage – granted, if one's reiatsu was sufficient to sustain it, but...

It was not to say that the Espada were, as a whole, reiatsu powerhouses with little to no discernment – all of them possessed some form of intelligence, or at least wisdom granted by century long existence. Though he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, Barragan was an exceptional leader to his hordes of Adjuchas; Stark, on the other hand was a visionary who could always pick what side of a rising power to stand on, while Halibel thought of herself as an exceptional diplomat and balance seeker. Ulquiorra Schiffer, on the other hand, was in possession of the most exceptional logic and cool detachment – yet, while all of them manifested some form of intelligence, none of them were _quite like this one. _

Tangible.

Their intelligence materialized in strategy, or warfare, or political manoeuvring. Szayel Aporro's materialized in weapons that could give him what his reiatsu could not.

The human world, Halibel thought, must have clearly changed from what she remembered; this new, frail ghost, had no second thoughts or hesitations about enhancing himself with machinery and he'd wasted no time in doing it. The fact that he had not even stopped to consider growing the _normal _way, by increasing his reiatsu, but that he had so naturally adopted such an odd method of evolution, clearly showed that, in the world he had left behind when he had died, machines had grown to be a natural extension to human will.

It was odd, and it was new, but, it was certainly not negligible. It would be wrong for Aizen to disregard this one's potential.

'Walk with me, Szayel Aporro Granz,' she said, turning away; the man fell in step, not behind her, but by her side.

Underneath her visor, Halibel grinned.

* * *

Grimmjow stopped, and sat on the sand crossing his legs. He propped Pantera by his side, pushing the scabbard into the sand. In his turn, Illfordt sat, stretching his legs, and prodding DiRoi, who'd settled beside him with the tip of his sandal.

'Oi,' DiRoi protested. 'What's the big idea?'

'Ya crowding me,' Illfordt laughed.

'Quit it you two,' Grimmjow warned, baring a canine – DiRoi scoffed, and Illford grinned wide, but they stayed quiet as all the others sat down. 'So what's up, Shawlong? What'd you hear?' the Sexta asked, prompting the other to speak with a swift motion of his chin.

Shawlong did not hurry to answer – the pause might have made him look like he'd been trying to overemphasize his importance, but Grimmjow knew him far better than that, and demonstrated uncharacteristic, trained patience. The scorpion was always slow; that didn't make him less deadly.

'The death of Neliel Tu Oderschvank has been recognized as fact; her seat has been freed. In consequence, ranks are going to be shifted,' Shawlong said, at long length. 'Yet, it is not as one might expect.'

'Us?' Illfordt asked, instead of Grimmjow.

'Not us,' the scorpion replied. 'We stand as we've always stood. Grimm remains Sexta. Yet there will be changes above and below us.'

'Is Nnoitra still gonna sit?' Grimmjow asked. 'Where is he gonna sit?' he reformulated, after Shawlong's short nod.

'Quinta,' Shawlong answered. 'Halibel will accept Tercera Espada. She's been on the sidelines too long, and she had been in line for it anyway.'

The teal-haired Arrancar let out an admirative whistle.

'Well, whaddaya fucking know,' he said. 'It's getting crowded at the top.'

'Ya down with Nnoitra getting fifth?' Illfordt asked, with a little discontent smirk. 'We should be getting one seat up and grasshopper man oughta be standing beneath ya, Grimm.'

'That is also my opinion,' Shawlong said, slowly. 'Yet, the seats are granted at Aizen-sama's discretion, and I doubt anyone save for Ulquiorra Schiffer or Halibel could influence his decision.'

'It ain't like he's accomplished a great feat of bravery,' Illfordt snarled. 'He didn't beat Neliel Tu fair an' square; he ain't proven anything that we didn't fucking know already. Don't see why he gets above Grimm. If anything, everyone should move up a rank, and Nnoitra oughta be getting seventh. At best.'

'Would you like to file a written complaint?' Shawlong asked, again arching his eyebrow. 'No?' he amusedly prompted when Illfordt smirked, but remained quiet. 'I thought so.'

'It ain't bad,' Grimmjow began, thoughtfully.

'You don't mind?' Eldorad asked. 'I would have assumed...'

'Nah, dude,' the Sexta drawled. 'Nnoitra is one crazy fuck; the type of guy I wouldn't wanna have looking up to me an' wanting my seat. Like this, he's gotta watch out for us, and we don't gotta watch out for him. It ain't bad that he gets Quinta, and I don't really care 'bout the name I'm called, as long as they call my name. But, Shawlong,' Grimmjow asked, 'if we ain't moving and Nnoitra gets Quinta...if Halibel was named Tercera and Ulquiorra hasn't moved either...there's two asses on one seat.'

'Ha?' DiRoi perked.

'Yeh, you retard,' Illfordt answered in Grimmjow's turn. 'Cirucci Thunderwitch sits as Quinta. If we ain't getting shifted down, what happens to her?'

'Privaron,' Shawlong responded emotionlessly. 'Or Octava,' he conceded, with a slight inclination of his head. 'She will either be downgraded or completely eliminated.'

The words had carried an ominous vibration, and Grimmjow cursed under his breath. The fact that the blonde and quiet Vasto Lorde, that had so far remained unranked, would take Tercera was no surprise. Halibel was undeniably strong, far stronger than Schiffer. But Cirucci...

'Freaking hell,' he whispered. 'One day you're it, the next you're not. Just like that.'

'I'm not particularly clear on the logic of these movements,' Eldorad observed. 'Cirucci continues to be marginally stronger than Nnoitra and Grimm...'

'Plenty of shit you're not clear on,' DiRoi cackled, showing his rare, ugly teeth.

Eldorad did not take offense, letting Shawlong's cold stare quiet DiRoi. The earthworm was not truly the brightest of the lot; in fact, his skull was probably as thick on the inside as the shell mask that covered it on the outside – yet, if Grimmjow didn't mind his obvious stupidity, Eldorad saw no reason to mind it, either.

'The randomness of the movements cannot be disguised,' Shawlong said, at length. 'I am unsure why we were not shifted. As for Cirucci herself, there is no certainty as yet. Still, it feels like there is little to no thought going into...'

'He's not thinking about it. He's simply keepin' us on our toes,' Illfordt interrupted. 'Sides for the top – Schiffer an' up, he's shuffling us like a pack of cards.'

'Let's leave the fucking strategic thought to later,' Grimmjow said, not showing his disagreement, but rather his lack of interest in matters beyond his control. 'If sorry ass Cirucci goes to Privaron, we're gonna have a new Octava Espada,' Grimmjow said. 'Who's that gonna be, Shawlong?'

'Lilinette didn't overhear that,' the scorpion responded, with the first hint of a smile. Illfordt threw his head back and laughed, as did Grimmjow.

'So you got all of this shit from Lilinette?' the Sexta asked, between wild chuckles.

'Apparently, Stark would like to keep you informed,' Shawlong remarked.

'Between snoring fits,' Grimmjow laughed; in exchange, Illfordt's amusement faded.

'Yeh, well, he could have cracked his eyes open and gotten to Nnoitra before he got to Neliel Tu,' the blonde snarled.

'Ya know that's not how Stark works,' Grimmjow answered dryly; Illfordt smirked in discontent and Eldorad looked away, but neither spoke up against commonly accepted truths. 'So, Stark doesn't know who is gonna be the new Espada.'

'We do not yet know if there will be a new Espada,' Shawlong corrected. 'With Halibel's exception...'

'Let's think through,' Grimmjow said; most uncharacteristically, the scorpion poked his tongue in his cheek and smiled wide. 'Yeh, well extraordinary times ask for fucking extraordinary measures,' Grimmjow grinned in return. 'Who's been made recently that can sit?'

'None,' Shawlong said dryly. 'The conclusion would, therefore, be that whomever will receive an Espada rank is someone already made. There are precious few of those.'

Slowly, all glances turned to the sands, and then, equally slowly, to Illfordt. More displeased than surprised by the attention, the blonde frowned menacingly.

'Wha'?' he inquired, in a furious voice. 'What? I ain't gonna sit!'

'Bullshit,' Eldorad laughed. 'If they ask...'

'They ain't gonna ask me to sit,' Illfordt repeated.

'There's no one else they could ask, dude,' Grimmjow smiled. 'You're 15th; made after Yammy but stronger than him. Stronger than most.'

'They could ask Shawlong,' the blonde Arrancar muttered. 'He was earlier than me.'

'Improbable,' Shawlong responded, in an unconcerned tone. 'Edorad would be another option, but although our reiatsu levels are higher than yours, we have both reached our limits. You have not.'

'Even if they asked me to sit,' Illfordt reiterated, blushing, this time, with pride, 'I ain't leaving you.'

'That's more fucking weak talk,' Grimmjow snarled. 'I am sitting and I ain't left you. There's no reason why you wouldn't do the same – that's what we set out for. To be kings. And if you get asked to sit, you're gonna be sitting. Or I'm gonna crack your skull open, for being chicken shit. Ya hear me?'

'Ya, Grimm, I hear you,' Illfordt returned furiously. 'But you ain't the boss o'me. If I don't wanna sit I ain't fucking gonna be sitting, right? I ain't gonna be shuffled round like a card in a pack, mate,' the blonde snarled. 'I like it how it is now,' he said, drawing a square in the sand, as if trying to show the boundaries of his resolve on the issue. 'I ain't making a play for anything I don't want.'

'Bull-shit,' Eldorad hyphened, and all of the others joined him in laughter.

''Course ya want it,' Grimmjow managed, at length. 'And I ain't telling ya to go murder someone to get it, dude, or fucking go away and never talk to me again till you do get it. I ain't saying that.'

The amused glimmer in the Sexta's blue eyes did not dim.

'I'm just telling ya that if they ask you, which they oughta do, it's fine with me if you get to Espada. Just in case you were wonderin'' Grimmjow snickered. 'Won't make my balls any smaller,' he added, with a wink. 'What would make my balls smaller is if you were asked to sit and you didn't cuz you were afraid of the shuffle,' the Sexta continued, his voice suddenly dripping ice. 'What would make my balls smaller is if you were chicken shit.'

Illford grunted in disapproval and looked away – still, his insides suddenly felt warm, and his heart began beating faster, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he admitted to himself that maybe it wouldn't have been so bad. That maybe it wouldn't have been that bad at all. The position would have definite advantages – not the least of which, the blonde thought, with a sudden grin, the fact that he'd be able to settle his issues with all those below him. Szayel Aporro sprung naturally to mind.

'Fine,' he said, feeling as if Grimmjow's acceptance meant that the seat had already been offered, and that being Octava hinged on that single word. 'Fine.'

Eldorad chuckled.

'And don't start bustin' my balls about it already, eh?' Illfordt muttered. 'We're gonna see what we're gonna see.'

'Yeh, dude.' Grimmjow snickered. 'Maybe they ain't gonna ask ya – they're gonna go for the smart option an' ask DiRoi.'

'Eh? What?' DiRoi snapped to attention. 'Watcha talkin' 'bout me?'

'He's saying how smart and pretty you are,' Eldorad laughed at the earthworm's obvious confusion.

'I ain't smart!' DiRoi protested, taking such honest offense in the statement that Grimmjow leaned over and hit him over the head.

'Make sure we all know it, bro'!' Illfordt chuckled as DiRoi began to whine – and, for a moment, it felt like the shadow of the city behind them, and the hand of the Shinigami that had made them human had never come to pass. It felt like everything was simple, as it should have been, like they were once again alone with the desert, but not alone with each other, kings of nothing who needed no other kings.

'What's the second piece of news?' Grimmjow asked, when the laughter died down.

'There are discussions about an exploration expedition to the human world,' the scorpion answered, all trace of amusement disappearing from his haughty voice.

The shadow of the city suddenly regained force.

'Hm,' Grimmjow said. 'We know who?'

'Stark has been asked,' Shawlong responded.

'An' lemme guess, dude, he turned on the other side and kept on snoring,' the Sexta drawled.

'According to Lilinette, he wished Ichimaru Gin merry sexual intercourse with himself, _then_ turned on the other side and kept on snoring,' Shawlong confirmed. 'Same effect, really. Then Halibel volunteered, and she was refused.'

'Like we didn't fucking know that, too,' Grimmjow sneered.

'And now, prolly, crybaby Ulquiorra's gotta take it on his poor self...'Illfordt began, in a bored, ironic tone.

'That would be the most logical conclusion,' Shawlong responded with a shrug. 'Hakim has been trying to speak with Yammy, but the Decima is keeping surprisingly mum about it. In my opinion, that should be regarded as a confirmation.'

'Fucking hell,' Grimmjow cursed, running his fingers though his hair. 'What the hell is it with Schiffer? Why does he always get to do shit? This,' he began, his right hand darting to Pantera's hilt in a gesture the significance of which the others did not miss, 'is starting to piss me off real bad.'

'It is, indeed, disquieting to note Ulquiorra Schiffer's influence rising,' Shawlong said, slowly; Eldorad and Illfordt nodded in agreement. 'He is already well established with Aizen-sama himself; I assume that his numerous, high visibility missions are meant to endear him to the other top Espada.'

'Or just to make 'em jealous of each other,' Illfordt said, softly shaking his head.

'Like Stark's ever gonna be jealous of Schiffer, dude,' Grimmjow sneered.

'Well Stark ain't gonna be jealous of anythin'' Illfordt insisted. 'But Halibel's a different thing, right? And she's gonna be sitting right on top of him – ain't unlikely that she may feel a bit of a cold breath on her back.'

'Equally,' Eldorad said, 'Barragan really likes his seat.'

'Yeh,' Grimmjow laughed. 'He'd got a fucking fetish about it.'

'But, as we keep seeing from all the strange, unexplainable Espada shuffling, the seat means nothing without Aizen-sama's full-hearted endorsement,' Shawlong said. 'It is not unlikely that Schiffer's high visibility is building towards naming him Primera – the choice being justified not by the reiatsu levels, but by the fact that he is such a useful and thoughtful character.'

'Like we give a shit, dude...' Grimmjow began, in a whiny tone. 'He just pisses me off...'

'Imagine how much he'd piss you off if he stood first,' Edorad simply responded.

'An' he don't like us too much,' DiRoi suddenly said, making all glances incredulously turn towards him. 'What?' he muttered. 'What did I say now?'

'Something smart, actually,' Shawlong responded. 'Listen, Grimm...'

The Sexta smirked horribly, knowing what was to follow and not liking it in the least.

'Ulquiorra Schiffer as Primera Espada is not a desirable outcome,' Shawlong said, slowly. 'He already has tremendous influence on Aizen-sama; if he carried equal authority...'

'That crybaby piece of shit can't have no authority over me,' Grimmjow snarled. 'He doesn't have it now, and he ain't ever gonna have it...'

'The affirmation is inexact,' the scorpion interrupted. 'You do not obey him, but that implies nothing about authority. We have already seen him imposing his Fraccion as Decima, though many others are far stronger than Yammy. If he can name unworthy Espada, he may be able to remove worthy Espada.'

'You're giving me a fucker of a headache, Shawlong,' Grimmjow unhappily replied. 'I ain't good at this shit, dude.'

'And that's why we're buddies with our friendly neighbourhood insect,' Illfordt grinned.

'That's also inexact,' Shawlong answered, with a hinted smile. 'Scorpions are not insects, they are arthropods in the arachnid class.'

'Dude, it's so gay when you say shit like that!' Grimmjow laughed, without spite. He drew a deep, discontent breath. 'So what do ya suggest, arthropod in the arachnid class? What are we s'pposed to do?'

'It would not be bad,' Shawlong said, thoughtfully, 'if Illfordt or any one of us was asked to sit. That would give us more leverage.'

'It wouldn't be bad if Cirucci got pushed down but stayed at the table,' Grimmjow retorted. 'She's pretty neutral. And would save me a lot of headaches...' he regretfully added.

'But in case she does not remain seated, Grimm,' Edorad began, 'we need to keep an eye on Ulquiorra.'

'The only thing I wanna be keepin' on Ulquiorra is Pantera's blade, right through _his_ fucking eye.' The Sexta muttered.

'His influence must be contained,' Shawlong continued, though the statement made Grimmjow roll his eyes.

'Stark ain't never gonna let Ulquiorra be Primera,' he said, as last line of defence.

'That is not how Stark works,' Shawlong briefly reminded. 'In any event, the fact that Neliel Tu is gone is regrettable, but indifferent to us. With Nnoitra being Quinta, the top ranks are still looking well balanced. Halibel is not fond of us, but she is not fond of Ulquiorra, either. Nnoitra is too insane to lean in any direction; I fear whatever destabilizing movements may occur, they will come from the bottom, and not from the top.'

'Bah,' Illfordt interrupted, suddenly standing up. 'That's mouthwash. Ain't none below Grimm that Grimm can't fucking rip apart if they even look at us funny.'

'Nonetheless, we should be looking to a friendly or neutral figure on the Octava seat. Anything else would be...disquieting to our position,' Shawlong concluded.

'Dude, I ain't gonna be playing fucking mind games...If I am worthy to sit then I will, if I ain't I'm gonna rip faces off till I'm worthy again.' Grimmjow muttered. 'Whaddaya want me to do? Go tickle Halibel till she tells Aizen-sama to ask Illfordt to sit? That shit's low. 'Sides, if I even think of tickling Halibel,' he snickered, 'Stark would have my head and Apache would have my balls – I need either one or the other still attached.'

'No immediate action is required,' Shawlong shrugged. 'But quality information would be priceless...'

'Aha,' the Sexta exclaimed. 'So you don't want me to tickle Halibel to tell Aizen to ask Illfordt, you just want me to tickle her till she tells me who he's gonna ask.'

'Not Halibel,' Shawlong continued. 'Or perhaps not directly. A few quiet words with Apache...'

Without noticing the wink Shawlong had directed to Eldorad, Grimmjow suddenly looked up, lighting gathering in his eyes.

'Keep Apache out of it,' he snarled.

Illfordt cast such an ironic glance at the Sexta that Grimmjow felt compelled to tense the fangs of his mask – the blonde's amusement did not fade, and he did not bother to hide it.

'Getting a bit on the soft side, huh, bro'?' he asked, smiling wide, and pushing the correct button. Grimmjow's scowl grew to monumental proportions.

'Wanna get your teeth smacked in?' the Sexta growled.

'Yeh,' Illfordt amusedly responded, accurately calling Grimmjow's bluff. 'Why, you know anyone who can do it? C'mon, Grimm,' he laughed, 'you're already putting a leg over that one. No reason why she wouldn't side with us...'

'No, dude, no reason she wouldn't but if I go and tell her this candy-ass bullshit, I ain't gonna be putting a leg over no more.' Grimmjow snarled.

'Apache is not the brightest mind...' Shawlong began, only to be abruptly cut off.

'It's none of your bee's wax if she is or isn't,' Grimmjow said. 'Fact is, tho' if I tried to use her to do things, I'd feel like a wimp who needs his woman to get to places and I could never get it up again. Also, if she saw me like that, it wouldn't matter if I could or could not get it up, cuz she wouldn't want me no more, for being fucking weak. So keep Apache out of it, yeh? I fuck her because of who I am, not to be who I am. So there,' he concluded, with great satisfaction.

'I swear, Grimm,' Eldorad laughed, 'your buttons are so clear that you could be wearing them on your forehead.'

'Ya pullin' my leg?'

'No, Grimm,' Shawlong grinned. 'We're pulling your tail.'

The Sexta hissed in open displeasure, but, as the others whole heartedly laughed, he managed a smile of his own.

'Y'all are bleeding retards, that's what you are,' he growled.

And, had the conversation stayed at that, Grimmjow would have felt perfectly content to ignore the iron claws that ripped at his stomach.

'The point of watching Ulquiorra Schiffer attentively stands, though,' Eldorad had said, at length.

Grimmjow really wished that he hadn't.

* * *

Ulquiorra Schiffer never walked as if he'd been in a hurry; yet, even when he was out for a casual stroll, the Cuarta walked as if he had an absolute and all important target to reach. In short, Ulquiorra Schiffer never looked as if he was approachable, under any circumstances.

Still, what everyone else thought impossible was merely challenging to Szayel Aporro – and since he harboured the intimate belief that anyone could be convinced or seduced, if correct pattern of conversation was found, he did not hesitate to leave the shadows and fall in step with Ulquiorra. Not walking behind him, as most would have, but right beside him, as he had with Halibel but a few hours before.

That was bound to get anyone's attention; and, just going to prove that most things were far simpler than most people thought, it got Ulquiorra's.

'I know what you want to know, Szayel Aporro Granz,' the Cuarta said, dryly.

'You do, Ulquiorra-sama?' the pink haired Arrancar inquired, in his sweet, seductive purr.

'Yes. Cirucci Thunderwich will not end the day as an Espada.' Ulquiorra answered – and though the response begged for a continuation, he stopped and continued to walk at his unhurried, even pace. A few moments of unpleasant and cold silence later, noticing that the other Arrancar was still unconcernedly walking beside him, Ulquiorra cast a brief glance over his shoulder. 'You are still here, Szayel Aporro Granz.'

'At your service, Ulquiorra-sama,' Szayel cheerily replied, and a mild shadow of incomprehension passed over the Cuarta's features.

Ulquiorra sustained Szayel Aporro's glance for a few seconds, then turned his gaze ahead.

'Unlike Arrancar 15.' Szayel Aporro added; this time, Ulquiorra stopped.

It had perhaps been half a century since anyone had hinted at the fact that the Cuarta Espada was not invulnerable.

'Are you attempting to communicate something, Fraccion?' he inquired.

'Merely the fact that, after Halibel-sama accepts the Tercera Espada, the council chamber' Szayel responded, adjusting his glasses, 'will become a most interesting place. For you especially, Ulquiorra-sama.'

'You must mistake me for Nnitora, Arrancar 26,' the Cuarta answered; the threat of relagation to Numeros after Cirucci's demotion did not impress Szayel.

'Not at all, Ulquiorra-sama.' He said, with a brilliant smile. 'I am merely commenting on an interesting political development that may leave all of us in search of subtle allegiances.'

Ulquiorra measured the Fraccion that stood before him from head to toe – and, suddenly, by the soft smile on the other's features, Ulquiorra understood that Szayel was implying exactly what the Cuarta thought he was; that given Halibel's ascent, Ulquiorra himself would need more than before to maintain himself as Aizen's right hand and closest ally. Halibel too coveted the position – and she was certainly strong and loyal enough to attain it.

A less intelligent creature would have insisted on reminding the Cuarta of Grimmjow Jagguerjaques – but this one had simply hinted at Grimmjow, then passed on to the truly important changes, to the things the Cuarta truly needed to pay attention to: the unpredictable combination of Halibel, who loved Aizen as much as Ulquiorra himself did, Grimmjow, who loved only mindless violence, and Stark, who only loved himself that Ulquiorra needed to watch.

'You are a remarkably daring creature, Szayel Aporro Granz.' Ulquiorra said.

'One must be daring, Ulquiorra-sama,' the pink-haired scientist responded, lightly. 'As Nnoitra-sama's advancement shows, only the daring may expect Aizen-sama's rewards.'

_And now you want something for yourself,_ Ulquiorra thought. _Disgusting._

He turned away.

But it was not himself that Ulquiorra sought to concern himself with. No.

He alone was meaningless.

It was only with Aizen-sama that the world gathered meaning; and, Ulquiorra was sure, no one as more entitled or better enabled to help Aizen-sama than he was.

'Will you be able to replicate the device you used to cancel the former Tercera Espada's reiatsu?' he asked.

'Yes,' Szayel responded, with no trace of doubt in his voice.

'On a large scale?' the Cuarta continued to question.

'Yes,' Szayel nodded.

'Will you also be able to explain its principles and workings?'

'If I must,' the pink haired Arrancar replied.

The Cuarta silently gazed at him for a few seconds longer.

'You have been noticed,' Ulquiorra said dryly.

'Thank you,' Szayel responded, grinning as wide as his broken lip allowed.

Ulquiorra turned away, and vanished into the darkness.

Szayel Aporro did not follow.

* * *


	5. Patience

Good evening all :) Twas the night before the night before Christmas :) Thank you for reading and commenting, it means a lot :)

Chapter 5 - Where we learn why Stark and Ulquiorra would not make good friends.

* * *

Stark opened one eye and winced, admitting to himself that he much preferred Lilinette's creative ways of awakening him to this kind of awakening; at least with Lilinette, he always knew what to be ready for...like this, however...

The other Arrancar stood barely two feet away from his mound of pillows, and she had made no sound in approaching – nonetheless, her reiatsu had jolted him from peaceful slumber as surely as Lilinette's fists might have.

Sighing deeply, he slowly sat up and cranked his neck before stretching with obvious pleasure, then yawned and crossed his legs, letting his shoulders droop. In stark contrast to his lazy gestures, however, his blue eyes were already fully awake.

'Did you do something with your hair?' he asked, in a hopelessly confused voice. 'You look slightly...'

The Segunda squinted, then waved the gloved fingers of his right hand over the top of his head.

'...taller,' he concluded.

Halibel didn't smile, as he'd assumed she would not.

'Is that your way of congratulating me on obtaining Tercera Espada?' she asked.

'Oh, so that's what it was!' he exclaimed. 'I thought you had grown _bigger_ somehow.'

He grinned, widely and insincerely. If she had been hoping to hear any sort of mention of her triumph, she'd been dead wrong.

'And?' he prompted, when she still failed to speak. 'How can I be of assistance, gracious Tercera Espada?'

Halibel chewed on her anger for a moment longer.

'Aizen-sama wants you.'

'I am flattered,' the man declared, in a joyous voice. 'But why did you come fetch me? I'm sure he could have summoned me through Ichimaru, as usual.'

'Then you wouldn't have come.' She responded dryly.

'I won't come anyway,' Stark beamed. 'It's barely past midday; I have already agreed with Aizen-sama that I don't do early morning meetings...'

The woman looked to the side and let out a deep, hot breath; for a moment, the Segunda genuinely felt sorry for her – it was not in Halibel's character to run menial errands on anyone's behalf. She hadn't done it when she had not been sitting, and she would not have done it now – no one had sent her. She'd come of her own accord, which clearly proved she thought this meeting important.

And perhaps it was, Stark thought, swallowing a yawn. If what Lilinette had overheard was correct, then Cirucci Thunderwitch had lost her seat; in that case, there would be a new Espada, and, with the top ranks getting heavy with reiatsu, aggression and opposing interests, the lower ranks would count far more in radically tilting the scales of power.

To Stark himself, however, the balance of the current Espada meant little; the all too frequent demotions and promotions had warned him not to trust any of the lower ranks would remain important for any significant length of time. He had thus not expended any energy on any of the nominations or invitations to sit that had come and gone – firstly, because he had little interest in creatures with barely sufficient reiatsu for a decent breakfast, and secondly, didn't suspect Aizen's democratic urges were anywhere near genuine, and that, in the end, the only Arrancar opinion that mattered was Ulquiorra's.

And Halibel's by the looks of it, the Segunda thought, albeit she probably mattered in a lesser measure – which, of course, only made her wish to work her way up on the ladder of God's trust.

_It must be true love,_ Stark thought to himself.

Her gaze had not switched flavour; she still looked at him, reproachfully and impatiently, as if she had hoped that her glance would give him a sudden bout of illumination, and he'd immediately change his mind, retract his words, then get up and follow her wherever she wanted to take him. It was almost endearing, Stark thought.

'What do you want, Halibel?' he asked.

'Your presence in Aizen-sama's council,' the woman responded, crossing her arms over her stomach.

'No, no,' he snickered. 'What do you _really_ want? The fact that you want my presence in Aizen-sama's council is so universally and eternally true that it is almost irrelevant. It has also never brought you to grace my humble tower with your presence, so I assume that you want something else this time.'

'It is Lilinette that always kept me from gracing your tower with my presence,' Halibel reminded, briefly. 'This is apparently her territory more than it is yours.'

'Ah, yes, quite true, that,' Stark answered, scratching his head. 'Where did she get off to, by the way?' he inquired, with narrowed eyes.

'I have not the most minor interest in where she roams,' Halibel snarled. 'She was not here when I came in.'

'I'm tired,' he whined, switching both tone of voice and topics; a brief reiatsu scan of his surroundings indicated that Lilinette was close and unhurt. The fact that she had, therefore, allowed Halibel in without making a racket meant that she too thought whatever Halibel wanted to communicate was of some importance. And while Stark would have gratefully ignored whatever news Halibel carried, he dared not do the same with whatever Lilinette thought important.

'What was it that you said you wanted?' Stark repeated. 'Think I must have fallen asleep with my eyes open and missed it...'

'This game is so beneath you,' Halibel hissed, seemingly losing her patience. 'So far beneath you, Stark! And you can play it with all others, you can play it with Ichimaru and you can play it with Tousen, not with me – I know you, I know where your strengths lie, and I find your pretence of disinterest so far beneath you...'

'Yes, well, let us not discuss what actions are beneath either of us, Halibel,' he answered, with a winning smile. 'We'll be here all day, and I'll get no rest. Let's stick to what _you_ want. Should be a _far_ easier, not to mention shorter, subject.'

A telling and dry screech, akin to the sound of claws on a dry board, emerged from underneath her visor.

'There is an Espada seat to fill,' she spat. 'Aizen-sama has called for our opinions...'

'And you have a candidate,' he nodded, encouragingly, but effectively cutting her off and bringing her to the point. 'A different candidate than Schiffer's, perhaps?' he continued, scratching his beard, and arching an inquisitive eyebrow.

'I do not know whether or not Ulquiorra Schiffer has a candidate.' She responded, not bothering to contradict him. 'But I do have one; one that I would like to see seated.'

'Congratulations,' Stark said. 'I am sure yours will be the winning solution. With great advice such as yours, what would Aizen-sama need me for?'

Her eyes narrowed, glowing with frustration.

'Alright then,' she muttered. 'If you take pleasure in hearing me say it, then I shall. _I_ need your presence at this session,' she repeated, stubbornly.

'Most excellent. I assumed as much,' he answered.

And indeed, he did know it – Halibel was too new to face off Ulquiorra alone; if she did have a favourite for the empty Octava seat, it was unlikely that her wishes would be considered ahead of the Cuarta's. With Stark on her side, however, things were likely to be different. Not necessarily because she'd get her way, but because she'd be able to show that _she _could bring Stark to order, when it was needed.

That, and not seating the next Octava was Halibel's true goal; demonstrating that she could rally more support than Ulquiorra Schiffer could.

Not necessarily the most difficult thing in the Universe, Stark thought. And certainly not a worthy goal.

'Isn't it a bit early to start thinking of scoring points?' he yawned. 'I mean, you have not even sat properly. Surely upstaging Schiffer can wait another twelve hours?'

'How often does the opportunity of influencing an Espada seat come up?' she argued back.

He ironically glanced at her, hinting at the answer, and, had Lilinette been there, Stark imagined she would have made some sort of remark about smoke rising from under Halibel's collar. And though he customarily thought Lilinette's imagination was almost as colourful as her manner of expression, this time, he would have agreed.

Halibel took a deep breath, sensibly cooling her reiatsu.

'Too often,' he superfluously whispered. 'That's when it comes up. Too often, Halibel.'

'Nonetheless, I shall take it upon myself to change that.' Halibel continued, her fingers clenching around her elbows. 'Within the top ranks, there is a promise of stability...'

'After your nomination, you mean?' the man innocently inquired.

'Yes,' she snappily replied.

'Oh, that's a relief!' he exclaimed. 'I thought you meant after Nnoitra, and that gave me quite a start, let me tell you...'

'Would you just...' she began, losing her patience and taking a wide stride forward; her reiatsu hissed past his ears, making his hair sway. His eyes narrowed.

'No.'

'...stop playing,' she finished.

'No.' He repeated, smiling. 'I prefer things like this. I am a playful sort of guy; ticklish too, you may recall, from our not so distant exertions.'

She did not miss the sting, and shuddered, swallowing dry.

'And it's a good thing I'm a playful sort of guy, my beauty, because otherwise I'd think that your coming here, to ask for my support in winning the favour of the man who replaced me in your bed is a bit, you know...disgraceful.' he noted, kindly, letting her chew over the words before he continued. 'But since I am, in many ways, a man of the world, you need not worry; I do not think _that._ I think that you are simply and honestly attempting to make sure that the empty Espada seat will go to the most worthy contender.'

'Correct,' Halibel snarled.

'All to Aizen-sama's benefit,' Stark confidently nodded.

'To all of our benefits, considering the conflict ahead,' she put in.

'...and, so, you see, knowing _that_ sets my heart fully at ease!' Stark answered. 'So much at ease, in fact, that I could go back to sleep right now, knowing that you and Aizen-sama have the fate of us all well in hand. Was there anything else I could help you with? Before returning to my nap?'

The female Arrancar shook her head and tried to still her breath. By her demeanour, he could not distinguish whether she was simply furious or genuinely worried, and, for a moment, he felt his heart rising to his throat.

_Phantom limb pain? Heartache for a man with no heart?_

_Most amusing._

'Will you listen to me?' she whispered.

'Seems unavoidable,' he responded, wincing.

'You cannot tell me that Schiffer's rise leaves you indifferent...' Halibel said, taking a step forward; he looked up, warning her to keep her distance and making her freeze in place.

'I can't,' he admitted, softly.

'I know you cannot. I know it doesn't leave you indifferent,' Halibel said; satisfaction resounded in her voice. 'Else you would have stopped Nnoitra. You did not.'

'No,' he breathed. 'I did not.'

'Then why will you not help me balance him out?' she asked, opening her arms. 'You know very well that is what you want me to do, so...'

'I believe sacrificing Neliel Tu was sufficient help?' he inquired sweetly. 'As you've well noticed, I did not move to stop Nnoitra, as he made room for you. Ironically, Halibel, I would have expected Aizen to do so – he did not need Neliel Tu dead to name you his Tercera, and, if removed from the Espada council where her innocent view of the Universe was somewhat amusing and distracting, she could have nonetheless been useful in the upcoming conflict that you so like to remind me of. Not as a commander, but along the lines of powerful cannon fodder...'

'It is not within our remit to question Aizen-sama's actions.' Halibel stated flatly.

'Of course not,' Stark smiled. 'That's why we don't do it; we simply philosophise _au delà du sujet. _And, from my part, it is sheer thickness, I will admit – I am too absent-minded and too little inclined to logic to understand why Aizen-sama would so easily resign himself to losing one of his most powerful soldiers. As one who is dedicated to ensuring our welfare and success in the war we shall soon wage upon the Sereitei, I'd think you should also be interested in the answer to that particular question.'

'I trust Aizen-sama knows exactly what he is doing,' Halibel answered, no trace of uncertainty in her voice.

'Of course,' Stark nodded. 'So do I. It is my own thickness and incomprehension I'm struggling with – I hardly think I need to impose that on Aizen-sama and enlightened creatures such as yourself, my beauty.'

'But this is not about Aizen-sama, Stark.' Halibel protested. 'This is far more basic; Ulquiorra Schiffer has brought his Fraccion to sit as an Espada. Since yourself and Lilinette refuse to take any stand, and my Fracciones are not strong enough to even aspire to an Espada ranking, I do not see why you will not assist me in making sure Ulquiorra doesn't gather more strength than he already has. He is the only one of us,' the female Arrancar followed, hotly, 'that can always count on two at the council table...'

'Were we given voting rights while I was asleep?' Stark perked.

'No,' she muttered, guessing where he was leading.

'Whew!' the man exclaimed. 'That would have been a development I wouldn't have liked to miss. But, since _that_ hasn't happened, I don't understand why Yammy worries you.'

'Because his presence gives Schiffer strength in the place where decisions _are_ being made,' Halibel sneered. 'In the throne room.'

'Was that not where you were heading, just now?' he frowned.

'Are you purposefully being thick?' Halibel hissed. 'Why do you content yourself on muttering pointlessly on the side, while refusing every single offer of participating in...'

'The council of the wise?' he snickered. 'The answer to that is simple, Halibel – because I am not wise. Clearly, since unlike the rest of you, who will doubtlessly debate long and hard over who will fill the Octava seat in such a way that our forces are best prepared for the winter offensive, I am still wondering why we are having a winter offensive in the first place.'

'Aizen-sama...' Halibel began, thunder and lightning gathering in her eyes.

'Because Aizen-sama wants it,' he nodded, 'yes, that I have heard before. And I shall certainly do my best to see that Aizen-sama's desire is fulfilled to the letter; nothing else has been requested of me, and I shall do exactly what is requested.'

'You do understand that this level of un-involvement harms no one but yourself? that Ulquiorra will see you dead or removed from Segunda if you continue to act like this?' Halibel sweetly inquired; Stark was not able to discern the direction of the threat. Nor, he discovered, with slight surprise, did he care.

'I'd like to see him try,' he returned, lying back on the pillows and covering his eyes with his forearm, his unconcerned words followed by a wide yawn. 'I'd like to see any of them try,' he snickered.

Stark pulled his arm to the side and slightly tilted his head in her direction – just enough to meet her glance.

I'd like to' see any of _you_ try,' he repeated; a brief tension in his reiatsu assured her he'd meant to say exactly what she had heard.

_Since we are on the subject,_ Stark distractedly thought. _And just in case you were thinking about it yourself, Halibel._

In the past, in their lives without the Shinigami, Halibel had been one of the few Vasto Lorde that had chosen not to challenge him. She had actually been the only one who had barely acknowledged his existence – the only course of action that Stark thought reasonable and logical in his regard, and he had always respected her acceptance of his superiority, never mistaking it for weakness. There were things in the world one could and should not fight without pressing reasons. Halibel had, for centuries, seemed to be the only one who grasped this simple truth. She'd never had reasons to fight him, he'd given her no reasons to fear him – thus, for a long time, he'd thought she respected his strength without fearing it. She'd seen and treated him as an equal. Stark'd loved her for it; and now, for that precise reason, Halibel was far more dangerous to him than Ulquiorra Schiffer had ever been.

In this new world, she did have a reason to fight him, the Segunda thought. And perhaps, he was not being careful enough to assure that she wouldn't.

_Fair enough._

During the time when his evolution was not complete, Stark had constructed his hunting ground little by little, in small, not ambitious expansions. He'd never been shy of offering his allegiance to those who were undeniably stronger than himself, shrouding himself in their protection until he was strong enough to consume them, then, their minions. He'd grown exponentially after each strike, and, within fifty years of his evolution to Vasto Lorde, he'd amassed sufficient reiatsu to become one of the strongest few.

Once the boundaries of his hunting territory had been established, Stark had not sought to increase them. He only ever ventured out when he sensed that a recently evolved Vasto Lorde had the potential to outgrow him, doing away with all threats before they could become solid – he did not bother with the old ones. Much like himself, they had reached the limits of their evolution, and would never, physically, be able to stand up to him.

For the most part, and for however strong they might have been, the younger Vasto Lorde did not have the benefit of experience. If they did not challenge him and die in direct combat, they were always useful tools in the one conflict Stark had never been able to shake – the one against Ulquiorra Schiffer, whose domain, which lied to the far west from Stark's own, crept slowly but irremediably wider. Unlike the rest of those who had risen after Stark, Ulquiorra Schiffer was not only undeniably strong, but also devilishly intelligent; he had set up his colonies far enough from Stark's domain to only be noticed when Stark's regular tactic of perfect, one point strikes would not function. By then, Ulquiorra himself had amassed sufficient reiatsu to be a challenge, and probably understood all too well that while Stark could still defeat him, he would not be able to do so without taking grievous damage and leaving himself open to other challengers.

It had been Stark to challenge Ulquiorra, and not the other way round, though the threat had always grown from Ulquiorra's direction. Schiffer made no secret of the fact that he intended to grow his domain until it swallowed the entirety of Hueco Mundo; he'd also made no secret of the fact that Stark's own territory would be the last to fall, and that, much like Stark, he understood the benefits of patience. Ulquiorra's boundaries grew a hundred feet at a time, never close to Stark's borders, but creeping far around them. Stark had not been fooled. Once the seemingly unthreatening advance would be complete, his domain would be a single, completely separated and indefensible enclave at the very heart of Schiffer's territory – and then, no amount of reiatsu or physical strength would guarantee survival.

Though he regularly and personally checked on Ulquiorra's levels of strength, in battles that often left the ground levelled and lifeless for miles around, Stark had chosen to leave stopping Schiffer's advance to his unwitting younger allies. He'd allowed younger and ambitious Vasto Lorde to set up their colonies dangerously close to his borders, sometimes looking the other way when they settled within them. The weak ones would be consumed by either Ulquiorra or himself; he however made it a point of constructing allegiances with the strong, weeding out those who sought to grow as he had grown, and placing the rest before Ulquiorra. He encouraged the expansion of their domains, because they pushed Schiffer away from his own borders, breaking the shackle that Ulquiorra tried to construct. The tactic had worked, though both Stark and Ulquiorra had known the solution was only temporary.

Too wise to endlessly consume his strength against things he could not take in a single, fast, swipe, Schiffer had conceded to a truce, and halted his eastward expansion. Striking the uneasy balance had come at a price – an old, unshakeable power and a new, rising one could not border on each other without conflict, nor, had Ulquiorra explained, would he tolerate the presence of a variety of ambitious, small hunting grounds on his eastern borders. They had divided amid themselves, and, in a single night, the ring of domains that surrounded Stark's territory had been eradicated and turned into a vast, semi-circular no-man's land. By now, Ulquiorra himself had grown large enough to understand that his power was coveted by a score of young rivals, and that he could scarcely afford to bare his throat to them himself by continuously challenging one who was ever so slightly, but undeniably stronger. As long as Stark respected the no man's land, Schiffer would too.

Ulquiorra Schiffer was a man of his word.

Stark was not.

Yet, he was not greedy, either, and he'd gained sufficient strength to finally let go of the paranoid fears that had driven his ascension thus far. His domain and the barren wasteland around it were just vast enough for him and Lilinette to be safe, have an ample supply of Hollows, but small enough for them to be able to manage it without resorting to the aid of other Adjuchas. With the uneasy balance he'd struck against Ulquiorra, and within the barren borders of an unclaimed territory that none but the youngest and most foolish chose to even explore, Stark had settled, and, for a while, he had hoped that he would be left alone. The mere fact that Stark had never encroached on other domains should have signalled that he was no longer interested in any sort of warfare. Oddly enough, it never had.

A continuous string of challengers had come, hoping to increase their own hunting grounds; others had come because they had thought their strength sufficient to compare to his, and sought to validate or enhance themselves in the eyes of their minions. As Stark approved of neither greed nor insecurity, none of them had walked out; until the unfortunate incidence of Barragan Luisenbarn, Stark's well thought tactic of non-interference had worked well enough.

Barragan had risen out of the remote east, sweeping over the sands like a hurricane. He too was weaker than Stark, though stronger than Ulquiorra. Still, unlike either of the other two, Barragan mainly based his strength not on his reiatsu, but on the mind boggling number of colonies he lorded over with an iron fist. It was rumoured that he commanded tens of thousands of Adjuchas and hundreds of thousands of Gillian. His armies had caused almost all Vasto Lorde in the east to retreat from his path almost without battle – Barragan was old, far older than Stark himself, and those who remembered him, also remembered that he never settled on the lands he conquered. He rose out of his core domain periodically, stretching his army far and wide, but only intending to increase his hunting ground by very little in each turn. His periodic incursions in the world outside served to quench his battle lust, but also to thin out the weak and feed the stronger of his Adjuchas, when their numbers grew too large for his hunting ground alone to sustain.

Thus, once each three or four decades, he rose out of his territory like a tornado, letting his armies feast, then settling into borders that were just marginally wider than before. Stark had been aware of him for almost his entire life, but since Barragan had never truly encroached, and because the ancient Vasto Lorde was already at the limits of his own strength, he'd never truly been bothered. In his turn, thus far, Barragan had demonstrated wisdom in not attempting to pass over Stark's lands – yet, either because the fires of his ambition had roared high at the thought of Schiffer's ever expanding empire, or simply because he'd realized Stark's unchallenged existence lessened his reputation amid his troop, he had suddenly decided on a change of tactic.

Even though Barragan had been surrounded by hundreds, he had failed to pose a threat; Stark had bypassed most of his army, and his personal guards had not even been able to stand up to Lilinette. In the end, the occasion would have been no more memorable than any other occasion when Stark had failed to complete his six hour afternoon nap. Yet, it had been in the wake of that particular battle that he'd truly made Halibel's acquaintance, and, by the same token, reclaimed the remnants of his former nature that Lilinette herself could not truly return.

Halibel was almost as old, as powerful and non-expansionistic as Stark himself, and they had remotely neighboured for almost half a century without encroaching on each other, despite the pressure that Ulquiorra Schiffer put on Stark's western borders. She had flatly refused to become Stark's ally during his wars, telling him that she had seen enough of his tactics to play any part in them, but she had not become Ulquiorra's ally either. Ulquiorra had seen fit to attempt revenge and he'd been pushed back without recourse, and with serious losses. Yet, instead of lashing out on his trail, Halibel had returned inside her walls, maintaining her distance from all raging conflicts.

For a long while, and just like Barragan, Stark had imagined that she was fearful. Half a century, and two Barragan invasions later, he'd had to admit that he had been wrong. Halibel was not fearful; she was weaker, indeed, but all that she lacked in reiatsu she made up in self-assurance and tactics. She'd countered Barragan's armies by making sure her territory was deprived of any means of subsistence; by the time the thousands of Adjuchas had arrived before the high walls of her lair, they had been hungry and impatient enough to begin devouring each other. All attempts at a siege had failed miserably, and she had defeated Barragan by giving him and his armies enough time to defeat themselves.

Stark had admired the approach, and thought it better than even his own. The next time he had approached Halibel, he'd done so with additional respect, extending the first sincere allegiance offer that he'd extended in his long un-life. Probably because she'd understood as much, she had accepted without pretending she hadn't expected it; they'd faced down Barragan's next rise as allies. The fact that she hadn't offered him her trust, but that she had not refused to give it after she had he'd earned it had made them friends; time and an sense of familiarity and comfortable habitude had made them lovers – and, for an odd century, Halibel had been the only one aside Lilinette he'd trusted and allowed in his presence.

For a while, he had liked to think that their allegiance...relationship, bond? Stark again wondered, yet again surprised at his difficulty of finding the correct word – was as close to love as either of them could still come; granted, neither was the thing or the person the other sought, and both of them knew it, yet both of them could play their respective parts well, and had been, in Stark's honest opinion _fit for purpose._ In a world where personal power took centuries to build, he had thought it was highly unlikely that anything or anyone – save for Lilinette's evolution to Vasto Lorde – could have shaken whatever odd notion of companionship, trust and friendship he'd built with Halibel. Or, in other words, the man thought, swallowing dry, that the comfort of an illusion of love could only be broken by true love itself; arrogantly, he'd always assumed that if such a thing could even be contemplated, he would find it first.

It hadn't been the case.

It would have been easy and comfortable to dismiss Halibel's fascination with Aizen as fascination for power; in the end, and counting her past choice of companion, it was plain to see that she'd never look the way of anyone that was not clearly stronger than herself and that, whether she loved power itself, or the way it reflected upon her, she was drawn to it. And yet, Stark thought, knowing precisely why one loved anyone else did not make the love less true.

Yet, it was not the keen sentiment of jealousy, or the odd notion of loss of property that poignantly rose to the Segunda's mind now. Both still lingered, but far more immediate and practical concerns overshadowed them. He'd trusted this woman; she knew him.

Therein lied the danger. Just like Ulquiorra, Halibel knew Stark. Unlike the Cuarta, however, Halibel had also been witness to his betrayals and tactics; she'd seen him bow to other powers only for long enough to see how best to crumble the pedestal they stood on, and, under the circumstances, Stark admitted to himself, she would have had every reason to fear he would not be more loyal to the man she truly loved than he had ever been before.

She was far more dangerous than Ulquiorra, Stark thought.

He'd have to keep reminding himself of that.

'You will truly not join us,' Halibel said, at length.

'No,' he replied, without even opening his eyes. The response had been as overarching as the question had been.

'What shall I say to Aizen-sama?' the woman bitterly asked. 'He will query your disinterest...'

This time, he found the strength to smile.

'Oh, you can assure Aizen-sama that none is more confident in his decisions than I,' Stark said, cheerfully.

She spun around and left the room.

Halibel's reiatsu had long cooled when he finally opened his eyes, acknowledging Lilinette's presence; the girl glanced down at him in a half ironic, half concerned manner.

'That was fast,' she said. 'Usually the two of ya take longer.'

He narrowed his eyes as if trying to say her irony was painful and unwarranted, but she arched an eyebrow, staring at him with open superiority and almost daring him to protest and continue the argument.

'I think she was afraid you'll catch us,' he answered, with a sigh, and the girl lied down by his side, making room for herself by jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow, then giggling at his muttered protests.

'Na,' she said. 'I think she don't like our sheets.'

'We don't have sheets,' Stark replied, stating the obvious.

'Exactly,' Lilinette shrugged.

They lay by each other's side quietly for a few moments, looking at the ceiling.

'Ya know,' the Fraccion said at length, 'I don't know where ya'd be without me.'

He chuckled and held her closer.

_I don't know either._

'Did you manage to speak to Apache, then?' Stark said softly.

'Yuh,' she confirmed. 'Straight to the source!'

'Then you are one Espada candidate name wiser than I am,' Stark whispered. 'Care to share?'

'Granz,' Lilinette said dryly.

He nodded, and closed his eyes; he'd suspected as much.

The girl barely gave him half a second before poking him in the ribs once more.

'The little gay Granz,' she added, for greater clarity, then poked him again as he shrugged helplessly. 'An'?'

'And?' Stark winced. 'Ow, Lilinette,' he protested, as she painfully pinched his shoulder.

'An', now you know. So what we gonna do?'

'Same thing we always do. Wait?' He inquired, in a hopeful voice. Judging by the fact that Lilinette spun around and kicked him in the shin, his proposed solution was completely unsatisfactory.

'Wait until you tell Grimmjow, though. He is is going to be very, very pissed,' he offered, as consolation prize.

'At least he's gonna be...somethin'' she muttered.

Stark was too busy avoiding her next kick to respond.

* * *

Up Next - Stark is always right. Thus, Grimm is really, really pissed.


	6. The Weave

Good morning y'all! and welcome to the funky new year :) Thank you for reading and commenting, and here we go :)

Ah, and before I forget!

Be warned: Half of the chapter goes on between the illuminated brains of Grimmjow and Apache - and they are very mentally compatible. This means they think of things one would never want to tell polite company about, so, language, language, language :) Could this be that because I've actually gotten myself into a barfight (now, in my old age!), and gained additional respect for Grimm?

Scary, ahem!

* * *

Stark yawned so wide that his chin almost made contact with the sharp row of fangs that hung about his neck; he was not looking forward to the meeting, and, under different circumstances, he might have done all the ensemble of small things that he could do to delay the moment when he'd finally have to sit down – such as stretching to his heart's content, scratching the back of his head, and analysing the chair as if the unfortunate object had held the secret to some great mystery of life.

He sighed, finding no more excuses not to sit, and settled down, looking thoroughly unhappy.

It was a sad affair, he distractedly thought, leaning his cheek on his palm, that the chairs looked so comfortable, but were, in fact so hard and strangely shaped, with a curved back rest that offered no support, forcing one to sit up straight or lean forward. The council chamber was the only place where Lilinette could not follow him, and, for all the interest Stark had in the proceedings, it might have been the ideal place for an uninterrupted nap.

He yawned again, then shrugged defensively to Halibel's disapproving glance, only meeting her eyes for a second and not turning towards her as she took the seat next to his. He did not need to do it though – he knew her all too well to need confirmation of the fact she carried herself with the entire force of the authority that had been recently bestowed on her. He only inwardly wondered if she'd already been infected by the same odd affliction that had touched Ulquiorra as soon as he'd attained the Cuarta Espada, a disease whose unmistakeable symptoms were the fact that the sufferers walked about as if they had a broomstick lodged up their behinds, and had an unpredictable onset of facial muscle paralysis.

He yawned again.

He supposed he'd find out soon enough.

Ulquiorra quietly took his seat opposite his, not bothering with any form of salute. The Cuarta looked straight ahead, his glance aimed at the wall behind Stark and Halibel. At the opposite end of the table, Yammy painstakingly fitted his gigantic form into the chair, just next to Zommari LeRoux.

'And? What is Aizen-sama planning to brighten our day with?' Stark asked, not turning towards either Halibel or Ulquiorra, but rather waiting to see which of them would answer. Both would have been equally well informed, he thought.

Halibel half turned towards him, just as Nnoitra crashed in the chair next to Stark's left side, cackling madly – the Segunda winced, aiming a pleading glance to the tall and wiry Arrancar.

'Must you be quite so loud?' he sighed. 'I have a gigantic headache...'

'Yeh, Nnoitra, stop grinnin' like the cat who swallowed the fucking canary,' Grimmjow snarled, letting himself drop on the chair opposite Nnoitra's.

'But I did swallow the canary,' the new Quinta grinned, proudly crossing his arms behind his head, and sticking out the tip of his snake like tongue, just far enough for Grimmjow to see the fact that the eight figure he'd had tattooed on there had been replaced by a five.

'An' you still have a few feathers in the teeth, dude,' Grimmjow muttered. 'So stop showin' them.'

'He-he!,' Nnoitra cackled. 'Am I offendin' your delicate sensibilities, Grimmjow?'

'Behave decently,' Ulquiorra said, dryly, his face turning snappily to the side; his voice had carried no anger, and his features expressed none. Nnoitra rolled his eyes, but his grin receded to a tolerable size, and he stopped cackling.

Thank the gods for small favours, Stark thought, with a little sigh.

He glanced over to Grimmjow, though half-closed eyes, wondering how the Sexta managed to find a new, and even more irreverent way of sitting every time that he did so – if he didn't outright put his feet on the table, Grimmjow either crossed them, sitting like an Ottoman Pasha, or leaned so far back in the chair that one feared he would slip under the table at any minute. In any event, whatever pose he chose to strike, Grimmjow always managed to express the same thing: he would have rather been anywhere else but here, and doing anything else but _this. _A feeling that Stark shared in its entirety.

'I'm surprised ya don't have a black eye,' Grimmjow said, noticing the Segunda's glance; the tone had not been reproachful, merely ironic, and Stark managed a small grin.

Grimmjow had, since the day that he'd strolled before Aizen, been Lilinette's unquestionable favourite among the lot. Stark had, therefore, no doubt that his Fraccion had complained about Stark's behaviour to the Sexta in as colourful a language as she could muster – and that where her language had not been colourful enough, Grimmjow had suitably helped her find her words.

'Plenty of new bruises everywhere else,' he answered, acknowledging the fact that his indifference in Neliel Tu's regard had been suitably punished.

The Sexta cranked his nose, his features expressing something oddly akin to satisfaction, and Stark sighed again.

The exchange, he knew all too well, would be as far as anyone would go to mention Neliel Tu's disappearance, and, oddly enough, Stark found at least this notion refreshing. At least _this_, Stark thought, had remained unchanged in the new world; they were, in the end, still Hollows, and still found the stronger consuming the weak normal.

He felt Halibel's gaze on the back of his neck as if it had been physically burning his skin, but he didn't even have the temptation of turning to face her. Instead, he shifted his glance from Grimmjow to the new Quinta, wondering why he resented the tall, lanky Arrancar so little.

_Perhaps because he looks so honestly and manically happy._

Stark nodded to himself, then closed his eyes.

Had he suspected for a single instant that Nnoitra's drive against Neliel Tu had been related to advancement within the ranks of the Espada, he would have liked it far less – however, as it stood, Stark could not help but find Nnoitra's own brand of insanity at least as refreshing as Grimmjow's. The new Quinta didn't want to advance, or, if he did, it had little or nothing to do with the game of musical chairs the Shinigami were playing. Nnoitra was just out to improve himself, not Aizen; distractedly, Stark wondered if God the All-Knowing understood how irrelevant he was in Nnoitra's universe, or if he even cared.

Furthermore, the Segunda asked himself if Aizen cared how allowing Nnoitra's behaviour made _him_ look...at least to those who could still see – not that there were many of them left, Stark admitted to himself, with a yawn. Even if Neliel Tu clearly hadn't had the _correct_ mindset, she had certainly been strong enough to be useful; from a headcount perspective, her loss should not have been negligible, especially since Nnoitra had not physically absorbed her and noticeably increased himself. Thus, Aizen's behaviour in allowing such a straightforward elimination could at best be deemed negligent, and, at worst criminal to the Arrancar's chances in the forthcoming confrontation.

'Yo gotta be fucking kidding me!'

Grimmjow suddenly straightened, as if he'd received an electrical shock.

'Heee!' Nnoitra cackled. 'Whaddaya know!'

'I take it Lilinette didn't find you in time to deliver the good word,' Stark dispassionately observed, not bothering to do more than half open his eyes and ironically glance at Grimmjow's thoroughly shocked features.

The Creator's reiatsu covered everything around it, so, although Stark had noticed Aizen's entrance, he hadn't bothered to look beneath the oppressive flavour of the energy that had just invaded the chamber. And perhaps, the Segunda thought, he would not have been able to discover anything even if he had looked – the newcomer's reiatsu was so subtle that one would have missed it even under the best circumstances. Yet, Stark noticed, stopping himself before he could outright frown, this did not imply that the new Octava Espada was not sufficiently endowed with spiritual energy. Quite on the contrary, he had far more of it than Stark had initially suspected; he simply chose to disguise it, and was doing an admirable job.

Nonetheless, as soon as Szayel Aporro slipped his thin, androgynous body in the seat opposite Nnoitra, and acknowledged the Quinta's amused, but obviously congratulatory grin with a small nod, it was obvious that he did not have sufficient control of his energy to disguise it as well as he might have liked. Thin, insinuating strands of young reiatsu, fine and subtle like silk ribbons floated about his figure; in the dim light, which allowed Stark to focus on the hints of the creature's true shape, the pink haired Arrancar looked nothing like his frail human body. Instead, he looked like a writhing mass of thin tentacles, something that was akin to an octopus, or a spider, or a butterfly, but was actually neither of the three.

This one, the Segunda thought, with no small surprise, had not been an Adjucha. He'd been a Vasto Lorde before his passage through the gem.

'What have you done?' Grimmjow hissed, leaning forward in Ulquiorra's direction, and brutally jerking Stark awake. 'This is low even for you, you pale-faced cunt!'

Ulquiorra did not even arch an eyebrow.

'I am sure I have no idea what you are referring to,' the Cuarta answered flatly. 'It would, however, be advisable that you watch your language in Aizen-sama's presence.'

'I concur,' Halibel added; neither of them made an impression on the Sexta.

'An' you allowed this?' Grimmjow snarled, gesturing towards Szayel Aporro but turning towards Stark, who immediately raised his palms in a defensive manner. 'What the fuck, dude!'

'It isn't like anyone asked me,' the Segunda answered, in a conciliatory tone. 'And I really have no opinion on the subject – I have not even made his acquaintance...'

'Like ya'd need to!' Grimmjow muttered, his voice dropping to a whisper as Aizen approached his seat at the head of the table. 'How'd you think he got here? If it hadn't been for him, Neliel Tu would still be sittin' – or did ya imagine that Nnoitra suddenly grew a bigger dick, and managed to do her over all on his fucking own!'

'Yo, watch it,' Nnoitra hissed.

'Na, you watch it,' the Sexta spat in response. His attention didn't even turn on the new Quinta for the length of the threat. 'That one of them backstabbers gets to sit shoulda been 'nough. There ain't no need for the both of them...'

'I fear your close acquaintance with Lilinette should have taught you far more about Stark, Sexta,' Ulquiorra said. 'If anything, at least the fact that backstabber is a compliment rather than an insult in Stark's vocabulary.'

Szayel Aporro chuckled knowingly – and this time, Stark did frown.

'You may transmit my sincerest commiserations to Arrancar 15,' the Octava purred, stretching his hands on the table before his and wriggling himself into a more comfortable position in the seat. 'I am sure he will be far more disappointed than you are, dear Grimmjow.'

For a moment, Stark actually thought that Grimmjow would forget where he was, jump out of his chair and strangle Szayel Aporro with his bare hands. And, perhaps, if Ichimaru Gin had not spoken out at the precise moment that he did, he might have.

'If all of y'all are done exchangin' niceties an' salutes...' the Shinigami intervened, merrily, 'we have sum actual business to chat about.'

Grimmjow visibly swallowed his next words. Yet, the fact that he had lain his clenched fist on the table was not a surrender, but a more reminder that the threat to the new Octava had not vanished – that it had simply been delayed. As if the Sexta's fury had been the best compliment he had ever received, Szayel Aporro took a moment to smile sweetly in Grimmjow's direction, before turning his glance towards Aizen.

In his seat at the head of the table, the Creator smiled permissively and kindly. He would not explain himself, of course; he clearly liked the tension that hung in the air, and the cut off conversation had obviously been what he had been aiming at. His glance slipped from one Espada to the next, from Yammy's absolutely blank features, through Szayel Aporro's seductive grin, Grimmjow's furious grimace, Halibel's attentive stare and Ulquiorra's impassible features, to finally and briefly meet Stark's sleepy and uninterested gaze, as if trying to assess if Gin had interrupted the budding conflict at the precisely correct point: when it was not far enough along to cast a shadow on Aizen's authority and the mockery of polite behaviour he was so keen on, but long before it could reach any sort of a resolution.

Stark yawned, but made the concession of actually raising his palm over his mouth to faintly disguise it.

Aizen's movements, the Segunda knew all too well, were anything but random. They might have appeared so, to the untrained eye, or to eyes veiled by anger or adoration. Yet, the movements within the ranks of the Espada had one very precise goal.

_Divide et impera_, masterfully applied.

The current set of Espada was the most disjointed and incompatible set of personalities one could have imagined. With the exception of Ulquiorra and Yammy, no two of the Arrancar that sat about the table could even pretend to get along or disguise their burning hatred of each other for too long; with that theme in mind, the new Octava seemed absolutely perfect. Probably the one character in the whole of Las Noches that was the best placed to make sure no unpredictable concentration of forces between the Espada could be achieved.

Szayel Aporro had been Halibel's candidate, but he could not have gotten his rank if Ulquiorra had actively spoken against him; he must have had some shred of support from the Cuarta as well. Yet, since Halibel and Ulquiorra were probably the two people in Las Noches who were least likely to agree with each other, the new Octava must have approached them separately, and managed to keep each of them blind to the other's intentions until it was too late for either to back down. The mere fact that Szayel Aporro had managed to crawl upwards within the ranks by pactizing with both Ulquiorra and Halibel clearly showed that he had no allegiance towards either of the two, and would only serve to reinforce the enmity between the Cuarta and the Tercera. Nnoitra would soon come to despise him, as a glaring reminder of the fact that his victory against Neliel Tu had been anything but clean. Grimmjow openly hated him.

As for Stark himself...

Whether Szayel Aporro was a friend to Halibel or Ulquiorra, both or neither, Stark did not welcome his presence. The man was obviously a skilled liar, and, if Grimmjow's statement about his participation in Neliel Tu's defeat was true, he was a creature that was frighteningly detached of its past, and one that boasted unpredictable human qualities, as well as a significant Hollow potential. In days long past, he would have earned himself Stark's immediately deadly attention.

Someone not only dangerously divisive, but truly, genuinely _dangerous_.

With his addition, Aizen had practically made sure that this group of Espada would never be able to fight together, or function as anything more than a disjointed mass of manoeuvre. This would perhaps make them weaker against the Gotei – but then, Stark suspected, the fact that they would be weaker against the Gotei was far less important than the fact that, separately, they were impotent against the Creator himself.

'Good afternoon, my dear Espada,' Aizen said, kindly.

The Segunda barely withheld a sigh.

* * *

Grimmjow stalked out of the council chamber immediately after Aizen had gone – breaching the unspoken etiquette of not following the creator too closely. Under the circumstances, however, the Sexta could not have cared less about any sort of etiquette, spoken or not.

The entire day had been a long string of humiliating defeats for Grimmjow. The fact that another open enemy of his posse had gained an Espada seat was only part of it – though Illfordt would probably be disappointed, he'd be more bothered by the fact that his brother had obtained the position, rather than the fact that he'd lost it. The thing that truly infuriated him was that his request of being dispatched to the human world had been politely ignored, no matter how many times or on what tone he'd repeated it.

_Ulquiorra will go._

Grimmjow cursed under his breath.

_Please understand, dear Grimmjow – it is not that your enthusiasm is not appreciated. It is just that this particular mission is not adapted to say, your kind of personality._

Like fuck.

Type of personality? What the hell was that s'pposed to mean?

So there were four humans in the real world who had sufficient reiatsu to draw Aizen's attention. So? If he'd heard shit correctly, which he was sure he had, Aizen knew exactly who they were and where they were at – so why would anyone need to bother with fucking reconnaissance, when all that would have been needed was to find 'em and throttle 'em, and be fucking done with it? As far as Grimmjow was concerned, it was all bullshit.

'Bullshit,' he repeated out loud, the growled word intended to warn Apache away.

It didn't, but then Grimmjow hadn't really expected it would. Nonetheless, though the young woman did start on his trail, he knew she would not follow him for too long. Halibel was still in the council chamber, and she would not be pleased if Apache would not stand there in waiting when she finally left.

Goddamn arrogant motherfuckers, all of 'em wanted a bloody suite.

'I ain't in the mood, woman,' he warned. 'I ain't having my best day...'

'Yeh, well, I ain't in the mood either,' she responded, in an equally aggressive tone.

'...the fuck ya want then, huh?' Grimmjow hissed, suddenly stopping and turning around. 'Ya got something to tell me? Ain't it a bit late now?'

The Fraccion frowned menacingly, as if she had been the one with the upper hand in strength, and in the back of his mind, the Sexta had to admit he found her total lack of fear as arousing as it was infuriating, and that, in the end, he was glad he had stopped and not simply stalked away.

'Halibel-sama actively forbid me to tell ya,' Apache answered, dryly. 'An' I ain't disobeying her. Not even for ya, dude.'

Grimmjow shoved his hands in his pockets. He'd suspected as much.

'I know,' he matter-of-factly responded, no trace of reproach in his voice. 'Ya do what ya gotta do.'

'I told Lilinette. Ain't my fault she didn't run into ya in good time.' Apache non-directionally said, shoving her hands in her pockets in her turn. She frowned furiously, and kicked at some low, invisible target. 'Well, what the fuck more did you want me to do?' she hissed, the sudden aggression in her voice and the furious burn of her hot reiatsu not being able to disguise that the question had, in fact, been as close to an apology as she was able to muster.

'Dunno, woman,' Grimmjow muttered, being as truthful as he could possibly be.

_Root for me, for a fucking change?_

The thought was dismissed as soon as it had surfaced. She could not and especially would not – and, in spite of the fact that he was angry at her for the moment, Grimmjow knew he would not have wanted her to, either; his anger at her was just a reflection of his fury towards the rest of the Universe, and not something directional. Apache was as inherently tied to Halibel as his posse were to him, not only by hierarchy, but by an actual notion of affection and respect, unbreakable binds built over long years, and though her link to the other female Arrancar did cause him some occasional irritation, it was the root of Apache's fierce independence from himself and almost psychotic fearlessness – the two things about her, excluding her deliciously firm behind, that he liked best. Not to mention, Grimmjow thought, measuring her through half lidded eyes, that Halibel's barely contained disapproval of whatever the fuck the two of them shared made the sex just a tiny bit more spicy.

'What do ya want?' he repeated, in a far calmer voice.

'I can come see ya tonight, if ya want me to,' the young woman said, with such obviously fake disinterest, that Grimmjow almost forgot he was trying to act angry at her and barely withheld a chuckle.

'Yeh, whatever,' he said, half turning away, and only taking his right hand out of his pocket to wave it in front of his face, in a clear sign that her proposition was absolutely indifferent to him.

'Then I won't come, you asshole,' she thundered, her blue eye glinting with such insane rage that Grimmjow had half a mind to prop her against the wall, right then and there.

'Whatever!' he repeated, with a wolfish grin.

'Fuck you, dude,' Apache muttered, with a half-grin of her own.

'Exactly,' the Sexta replied, looking over his shoulder for just long enough to see that she had blushed a little, and throw her a smile that he knew would make her come see him even if he explicitly told her not to.

Now, what Apache might do if Halibel forbid her the same thing was an open question to them both. He preferred not to dwell on it too much, and knew that Apache didn't either.

Grimmjow waved his hand in sign of a careless farewell, and resumed his stalking down the corridor, at a pace that made all the gathered Numeros and Fracciones draw away from his path; in spite of the promise of a good evening, running into Apache had not improved his mood. If anything, it had made him thoughtful rather than angry – and Grimmjow preferred angry to thoughtful on any goddamn time of any goddamned day. The feeling that something _not good_ was brewing, which had first surfaced when he'd glanced upon Szayel Aporro Granz's bloodied features a few days before, would not recede. How the fuck could it have, Grimmjow idly wondered, if the goddamned arse bandit had actually worked himself up to an Espada seat?

Maybe he was really doin' Aizen, the Sexta thought, with a disgusted smirk. Or Halibel. Or Ulquiorra. Or, as far as Grimmjow was concerned, the little freak might have been doin' them all. In any event, it was obvious that Ulquiorra had won the day on any number of fronts. And then, Halibel had not only agreed with the Cuarta, but she'd wanted the nomination to go under the radar for as long as possible, which was quite odd, given the fact that Grimmjow did not have the inclination to go whine in Aizen's ear for any reason.

He preferred to make himself useful in other ways.

Only now, Grimmjow thought, yet again cursing under his breath, even that looked problematic. Because Ulquiorra stood in the way, and because the council chamber had begun to simply look wrong. Too many weavers, but few actual doers.

_Wrong kind of personality. My ass._

He punched the corner as he went by, making a few pieces of stone shatter and fall to the floor, and causing some amount of panic in an unfortunate Numero that had almost walked into his fist. The creature shrieked desperately and darted away.

Apache watched Grimmjow disappear around the bend of the corridor, but did not hurry to return to Mira Rose and Sun-Sun. Instead, she instinctively reached towards the back of her neck, and ran her gloved fingers over the two tiny scars her last encounter with Grimmjow had yet again refreshed. She had no doubt that he'd make them even deeper tonight. He was a feline, and he goddamn mated like one, and as far as Apache was concerned, she would have had it no other way.

The thought normally made her smile inwardly, and though she was very sure she kept her features under control, Sun-Sun always maliciously remarked that every time she knew she would be seeing Grimmjow later, Apache looked like a kid who'd be left home alone with the cookie jar.

She didn't feel the little inward smile today, though. Because although she was looking forward to his body covering hers, and to his hands on her wrists and to his long canines on the back of her neck, she knew that after it was all done she'd have to tell him what she could not have told him now.

She'd have to tell him that Halibel-sama had returned from the council chamber, looking very confused; that, not long after, she'd received a quiet visit from Ulquiorra Schiffer. That such a visit had never happened before, and it shouldn't have happened, either, cuz Halibel-sama hated Ulquiorra Schiffer, and Ulquiorra hated Halibel-sama, and that was clear to everyone – even the dumber among the Arrancar, like, say Mira Rose.

It had happened nonetheless.

And Halibel-sama had talked to Ulquiorra Schiffer in hushed voices for a couple of hours. In such hush voices, in fact, that not even listening with her ear glued to Halibel's door had helped Apache hear anything. She'd barely had time to get out of the way when Ulquiorra had finally left; behind him, Halibel-sama had remained thoughtful, but clearly excited, and she'd hadn't told anyone, not even Sun-Sun what they had talked about. She'd just said that Aizen-sama had a great plan, that would make them all even stronger, and that they should all be attentive and on their best behaviour from now on, because things were going to start moving very fast, and everything and everyone would have to move as fast, or be left behind.

Apache had no clue what the plan was, and she had no intention of being anything else than attentive and on her best behaviour, as she always was _only_ when Halibel-sama asked her to. But she felt the need of telling the same thing to Grimmjow.

No.

In fact, for some strange reason, and because of an unpleasant, foreboding feeling, she felt she'd have to beg him to be good. And not get pissed at everything, and actually think about things, and pay attention to shit, whatever the shit was.

Because something really big must have been up, if Ulquiorra Schiffer had come to see Halibel, even worse, if they had agreed to do something, whatever it was, together.

In her heart of hearts, Apache had never feared for Grimmjow, even when he made his hatred for the Cuarta painfully obvious to anyone and everyone, as if all he'd been waiting for was for the Cuarta to finally get pissed enough to jump him. Grimm was powerful and he was smart, and he could have taken Ulquiorra, no matter what other people thought. Perhaps, in a little corner of her mind, Apache sometimes hoped that Grimm _would_ get Ulquiorra, just as a bloody point. But playing and provoking the Cuarta wasn't the same if Halibel-sama was involved as well. Not the same at all.

She'd have to tell Grimm to watch out – only she'd have to do it after they'd already made love; because, Apache was sure, Grimm would not like it at all.

* * *

Up next - the brothers Granz will have a heart to heart. Or if you will, a repressed fist to stomach.


	7. Teacher's Pet

Ah, here we go! Long time no see, folks :) And, as usual, I am not going to keep my word after the up next...(five months later, even I cannot blame myself :) so...Please don't :D

Many, many thanks for your kind words in my absence. They made for great encouragement, and kept me having fun at writing this, as I can only hope you have fun reading.

As always, props to my betas - IVIaedhros and Maidros, both better men than I :)

And so, to tonight's

Warnings: To all you non-Understanding readers out there, Szayel and Tousen, well...they're sort of an item. Don't say I didn't tell you.

* * *

'This subject is not open to conversation.'

Kaname Tousen sat up, abruptly and mechanically, looking every inch the automaton he was, and even managing to sound more like an automaton than usual. He pushed the silken sheets aside, then paused for a brief moment, getting his bearings.

The hesitation was all that Szayel Aporro needed. Once more congratulating himself on the inspiration of removing the carpet from the side of his bed, the Arrancar sensuously leaned over, putting his arms about the other man's bare stomach to keep him in place. Kaname Tousen was not keen on post coital cuddling – no more than he was keen on foreplay, as a matter of fact – and while he had initially thought that the latter of Tousen's dispositions would cause him some trouble, it was the former aspect of his personality that was thwarting Szayel's expectations.

It left him little room and time for pillow talk manoeuvring , which had been the very purpose of the entire affair. Well, Szayel considered, playfully and tenderly biting at Tousen's side, and smiling to himself as the Shinigami shuddered, it was not as if the _entire _situation had not given other types of satisfaction as well. Kaname Tousen was not an unattractive man, and though he was not a considerate lover by any stretch of the imagination, he was sufficiently satisfying. Whatever harm he caused, Szayel thought, analyzing the bruising on his wrists with a tender, appreciative eye, was entirely incidental.

Too bad; that would have at least made it interesting.

But then, it was probable that the lack of purposeful brutality was not caused by the fact that Tousen did not want to cause pain, but simply by the fact that he did not truly know how to do it properly. Also, actively causing pain might have forced him to directly focus on the act, at precisely the time when he would have preferred that his mind was as far away from his body as possible.

Yes. Decidedly, the Shinigami's obvious self loathing was by far the most pleasant aspect of the affair; having the opportunity of observing such a deeply schizoid personality from up close was a treat that any psychologist might have killed for. In fact, Szayel suspected that Kaname Tousen suffered from at least three different and completely independent personality disorders and neurosis, starting from his pathological attachment to Aizen, through his fixation on virtues he clearly did not possess, and finally, to his deeply repressed sexuality and all of the delightful manifestations that it caused in his shattered, misbalanced ego.

It was precisely because of the latter aversion for intercourse that Tousen rushed his way through his increasingly regular encounters with Szayel Aporro, a fact that amused the Octava to no end. It was Szayel's educated opinion that if one abhorred their own sexual gratification that much, and probably rushed to some form of cleansing flagellation immediately afterwards, one might as well have thoroughly enjoyed intercourse, and give oneself something to truly feel guilty for. Tousen, on the other hand busted into Szayel's bedroom and darted out immediately afterwards, literally like a bat out of hell.

Attempting to talk or charm him out of what was decisively an annoying and rather insulting habit had yielded no result; true to himself, however, Szayel had reasoned through the situation and realized that the longer he kept Tousen in bed, the more nervous and eager to concede to anything he became. Since retaining his attention with any sort of physical interaction was not an option, and Tousen was not among the most talkative of the lot, another method had to be found. And Szayel had quickly and seamlessly found one.

Even the most minor alteration to the room caused Tousen to be unsure of his whereabouts. Like any blind man, he relied on familiar surroundings, textures of surfaces, perhaps smells and sounds for orientation – if the layout of Szayel's bedchamber changed, he had a harder time rushing out. The simple, yet masterful idea had worked wonders for Szayel Aporro over the past few weeks – placing the dressing table by the bedside had obtained him the permission of extending his laboratory outside the tower; changing the orientation of the bed had bought him just enough time to slip in a few words about lining a few unimportant rooms with sekki stone; adding carpeting had helped convince Tousen that quite a few of Szayel's larger and more unpredictable Fracciones, such as Medazepi were built with nothing but Aizen's glory in mind – all small tricks, which had brought about great victories.

To much of Szayel's chagrin, however, the latest of his ideas had had far less success. The fact that he had invented semi-biological reiatsu reading devices that could stream information about whatever opponent the wearer was facing should not have passed unnoticed. The creation, which was a fortunate meld of semi-sentient reishi and mechanical nanotransmitters would have been absolutely perfect for Ulquiorra's trip to the human world; no less, in fact, than a stroke of genius – one of many, granted, yet...Ichimaru Gin, who was driven by what Szayel Aporro could only describe as petty jealousy, had not been eager to test their functionality, and, without Ichimaru Gin's ear, Aizen himself was completely unreachable.

A simple calculation had shown that Halibel would do nothing that would enhance Ulquiorra's chances of success at anything. The fact that she had volunteered for the mission and been refused was notorious, thus, the fact that she possessed a relatively open mind and even a laudable amount of intellectual curiosity would not help on this particular occasion.

As for Ulquiorra himself...The fact that Szayel was here, yet again at the starting point and trying to weasel five more minutes of Kaname Tousen's attention, spoke volumes about how receptive the Cuarta had been to Szayel's suggestions.

'But Kaname,' he purred, following his words with a soft kiss, and ginning when Tousen shifted uncomfortably, 'my idea can bring no harm; in fact, I believe...'

'Your opinions are unimportant, and this subject is not open to discussion.'

Szayel frowned; even for Tousen, this was unexpectedly rude and brief.

'Please...you cannot tell me that the notion of Ulquiorra – or Yammy – as the case may be, carrying a few very small and completely safe and, I dare say – completely motion uninhibiting! – devices is _that_ unmentionable.'

This time, Tousen resolutely rid himself of the Arrancar's arms and stepped out of bed onto the cold floor. The absence of the carpet clearly confused him, but it was not enough to slow him down.

'The plan has been set and is already in execution,' Tousen said, bending over to retrieve his clothes from the floor. 'When Aizen-sama requires your assistance, he will doubtlessly call on you.'

'I am humbly volunteering,' Szayel purred, his facial expression in harsh contrast to the sweetness in his voice.

'You are overstepping your attributions,' the Shinigami responded indifferently, wrapping his silken hakama about himself. 'Besides,' he added, obviously eager to bring the Arrancar's insistence to an end, 'as of a few hours ago, Ulquiorra is already on his way to the human world. Your intervention is not only unnecessary and unsolicited, but also tardy.'

Szayel Aporro bit into the pillow, somehow managing to stifle his frustration at the cost of ripping through the fine silk pillow case. His post-orgasmic chill evaporated as quickly as the shallow climax that had caused it, pink little soap bubbles exploding into green bile. Of all the sheer, unpardonable idiocy....Why, Szayel thought, small harmless, fists clenching uncontrollably, why was Ulquiorra already on his way to the human world? There had been no preparation for it! No warning, no planning, not even a single mention of it in the Espada council, aside for the actual announcement...

'Your reiatsu is out of control, Octava Espada. Do not count on my blindness; I see your true colours well enough.' Tousen said, a hint of superior amusement in the voice of a man without a sense of humour. 'You act as if you had expected to prior notification; did we ever leave you with the impression that we answer to any of you?'

Quickly reassessing his position, Szayel Aporro swallowed dry, and brought his reiatsu under control.

'Of...of course not,' he whimpered, hoping that he had sounded suitably contrite and inwardly cursing at his lack of control over his spiritual energy. 'I am merely...disappointed, at...'

_...the fact that you have dispensed with a potentially priceless source of information for no rationally discernible reason..._

'The lost opportunity to serve,' Szayel Aporro completed, in a voice suited to a hymn of praise.

Among the many other things that he was, Kaname Tousen must also have been tone deaf.

The ironic part of the situation was that Tousen himself had had no reason to so decisively bar Szayel's idea from reaching Aizen's ear. Gin might have, perhaps, Ulquiorra was quite the arrogant bastard, but Tousen...He would have had nothing to lose. In truth, with so many worthy contenders for the Creator's attention, Tousen should have jumped at the opportunity of showing his shameful little indiscretions were at least useful.

Without uttering a single word of farewell, Tousen had left the room; if anything, Szayel's mistake in allowing him to see how much frustration he had caused seemed to amuse him. Why, only Tousen knew.

_Attempt number four,_ Szayel thought. _Not only a failure, but a resounding failure._

With a deep sigh, Szayel brought his frail forearm to cover his mask, and considered the situation with his eyes closed, momentarily choosing to focus on the subtle smell of sex and sweat that the sheets still carried. It was indeed most fortunate that he could climax under almost any circumstances and with almost any partner. Otherwise, he might have actually taken the time to more keenly reflect on the fact that Kaname Tousen was not only a blind, stuck up fool, with a penchant for spewing first class platitudes. He might have been unable to stop from pointedly thinking that Kaname Tousen was quite the idiot, which, of all things, was the only characteristic that Szayel Aporro found lethally _un-sexy_.

Not yet un-sexy enough to cancel Tousen's obviously advantaged position at the Creator's side, but, decisively, a thing to closely consider in the future, if Tousen once again proved criminally daft.

Had the situation been different, and not so _perfectly_ suitable to the demonstration of his latest invention, Szayel Aporro would not have been that outright furious, and just awaited the next opportunity...But, the pink-haired scientist thought, frowning at the world's interference with his creative processes, he really wanted to test the spectral parasites _now_, not later – there were still so many characteristics that could be fine tuned, such as their adaptation to the host, their uncertain healing capacities, the range at which they would be able to transmit, what type of reiatsu information they actually picked up...

'_Sooo unfair..._' Szayel Aporro whinnied, towards the ceiling.

The side door of his chamber opened, allowing in a small, rounded creature, which looked like a melon and balanced oddly on too short legs.

'Meep?' it questioningly uttered.

'He's gone,' the Octava sighed, sitting up.

'Meep,' the creature gleefully emitted, bouncing forward rapidly. A neatly packed, ironed and even slightly scented new uniform set was placed by Szayel Aporro's side, then, obviously pleased by its success, the creature took a step back and awaited its reward. 'Meep? Meep?' it pleadingly insisted, when the appreciation tarried.

'I'm not in the mood for cuddling, Lumina,' Szayel harshly muttered. 'I am surrounded by incompetents!'

'Meeeep,' the thing plaintively stretched. It obviously considered the statement unfair, and, upon a moment of consideration, Szayel did too.

'Well, and creatures without proper voice synthesisers installed,' he added, in a tone that sounded at least half conciliatory.

'Mep,' Lumina dryly agreed.

'The problem is that I can only fix the latter category, while the former seems to be absolutely impenetrable.' The Octava snarled.

Lumina blinked, looking up at its maker with round, uniformly coloured golden eyes.

'Opaque?' Szayel tried. 'The light of knowledge and understanding enters their brain, only to travel into the great beyond and never return, not having a single neuron to reflect on?'

Lumina blinked again.

'All right,' Szayel conceded, reaching under the bed, to hastily extract a small notebook, and scribble down yet one more word that would have to be added to the creature's internal dictionary on the next system upgrade.

'Hm,' he said, lifting the short stub of the pencil to his lips, and unconsciously starting to chew on it. 'Impenetrable.'

That much he'd known about Tousen from the beginning.

'But why was he _amused?_' he asked. 'Surely, frustrating me in all manners conceivable must be the high-point of his miserable day but...'

'Meep,' Lumina shrugged, as if inciting her maker not to ask questions that he could not answer. Unfortunately for the Fraccion, Szayel Aporro ever did anything but.

* * *

In Ulquiorra's memories, Yammy's arm fell to the side.

In the real world, Stark's eyes flew wide open. As did Lilinette's.

After taking a quick look around, to make sure that the others, including Aizen, were still under the spell of Ulquiorra's true sight, the Segunda looked down, exchanging a quick glance with his Fraccion.

_Who'd have thought..._Lilinette's arched eyebrow quietly said.

Stark gave her a minute shrug, in sign that he was not as surprised by Yammy's misfortune as he might have been, then encouraged her to close her eyes and breathe in again with a swift motion of his chin. The girl frowned menacingly, but obeyed, knowing that Stark would not rejoin the communion and that at least one of them would have to be fully informed. It would have to be her, Lilinette's thoughts grumbled, like it always effin' was.

In turn, less interested in the remainder of Ulquiorra's trip to the human world, Stark looked around with narrowed eyes, trying to assess the others' candid reaction to what they were witnessing.

Much as he had expected, Grimmjow's face was curved into a scowl that fully revealed his unnaturally long canines. His fingers twitched eerily and uncontrollably on Pantera's hilt. It was genuinely like watching a cat having a nightmare about not catching the mouse, Stark thought, with a little smile.

He looked on to Nnoitra, who looked like he was about to pick up on the Segunda's own best behaviour and fall asleep. Others' fights were of absolutely no interest to the Quinta, and, furthermore, the fact that Yammy's Hierro had proved unable to stop a zanpakutoh was exactly what Nnoitra would have expected from any Hierro but his own.

In perfect opposition, Halibel was watching attentively, her brow slightly furrowed and her breath perfectly regular. No doubt she would have every detail of the encounter imprinted into photographic memory, and ready to sustain argumentation about how the Hougyoku transformation had benefitted them all.

Stark bit his lip and looked on, past the Octava Espada, and to Leroux.

Then, with the first twitch of surprise, Stark's glance snapped back to the Octava.

Szayel Aporro Granz – the little gay Granz – was...rather irked. No, Stark concluded, focussing his attention, he was impatient and frustrated, expressly reminding the Segunda of a schoolboy that was not allowed to offer the correct answer, when no one else in the class even knew what the teacher was talking about. There was nothing on his features that would attest it, except perhaps the tiny twitch in the left corner of his lips, but everything else, from the straight and detached line of his eyebrows to his patiently entwined fingers denoted nothing but the polite demeanour that the Octava always displayed before his superiors.

Quite admirable, given the overpowering nature of Ulquiorra's shared consciousness.

His reiatsu, on the other hand, was a complete mess, Stark thought, almost amusedly taking in the writhing – actually, nervous and acute _vibration_ - of Szayel's myriad of tentacles. The normally fluid strands of energy were stretched to the point of breaking, like the extended chords of a musical instrument. Something was really ticking the little gay one off, and his reiatsu was advertising it better than if he had stood on the council table and shouted at the top of his lungs. Although on second thought, there was no safe bet against the Octava's shrieking, Stark thought, looking away to avoid chuckling.

His smile froze on his lips and quickly turned into a scowl.

A single green eye, almost hidden under dark tresses narrowed at meeting Stark's fully awake glance. Knowing that all others were still under his true vision's spell, Ulquiorra allowed himself to fully turn away from the throne and face his ancient enemy.

He'd been watching Szayel Aporro as well, Stark thought; the Octava's uncoordinated buzzing was attracting quite some attention. And, though he possessed no _true sight, _Stark knew exactly what Ulquiorra was thinking and feeling, because he'd been feeling it in turn.

Quickly recovering, and knowing that Ulquiorra had neither the authority nor the power to punish his lack of interest, Stark gave the Cuarta his best and most well intentioned smile.

'What do we smell in this one, master Schiffer?' the Segunda quietly mouthed, tilting his head in Szayel Aporro's direction.

In a most uncharacteristic gesture of aggression, Stark brought his right hand up, gloved long fingers obscuring half of his face.

'I, for one, smell lunch. I'd think, so should you - he is advertising it, after all...' the Segunda questioned, the darkness of the chamber playing across the sharp contours of his cheeks, and creeping over the remnants of his mask. 'Or does Aizen-sama have you on a diet?' he added. This time, the fangs beneath his chin gleamed.

Ulquiorra smirked in disgust – the spell lifted; without lending Stark any further attention, the Cuarta once more faced his God.

'I see,' Aizen said, in an agreeable voice. 'So that's why you decided he wasn't worth killing.'

'Huh?' Stark whispered, looking down to Lilinette.

'Fuck knows how he reached that conclusion!' she hastily whispered back. 'From what I saw...'

'Yes,' Ulquiorra responded, calmly.

A droplet of blood fell from Yammy's torn arm; neither Ulquiorra nor Aizen took notice.

'Your orders said to kill him only if he could become a problem.'

'That's stupid!' Grimmjow exploded from somewhere behind.

'Oh boy,' Lilinette sighed. 'Here we go. The regularly scheduled my-balls-is-bigger-than-yours...'

'_Are,' _Stark obligingly corrected.

Swept away by a furious swing of the panther's tail, any chance of a logical conversation was blown up in the air.

* * *

'You have no control over Stark.' Ulquiorra said.

White fingers with square, dark nails, lifted the porcelain cup to the thin dark lips.

'I was not aware I was supposed to.'

In spite of the self assuredness and cutting tone of the voice, tiny golden fingers, with nails cut so short that they made the hands look childish nervously spun another porcelain cup.

'Whereas,' Halibel continued, with increased confidence and an ironic edge, 'I believe you have full power of authority over Grimmjow. You should attempt to exercise it, sometimes.'

'Madmen recognise no authority.'

Pale eyelids lifted briskly to reveal one vibrantly green pupil, and a completely white one, with only a minor shadow of a sclera.

'But they submit to it soon enough. As soon as they are crushed by it.'

Halibel sighed, and finally lifted the cup of tea to her lips. It was odd; Ulquiorra's presence was the only thing that caused her to remember that once, in a long lost human life, she had truly enjoyed wine, and the only thing that made her think she actually missed it.

* * *

Up next - We already know that Grimmjow is going to get in trouble. So, we shall cut to the chase.


End file.
